A School to Stay At - HIATUS!
by MsMJ
Summary: It is the summer of 1990 and the Winchester family find themselves in the U.K. (along with Bobby) to do some work. Or at least that was until Dean gets a suspicion rising letter, per owl post! *I am currently (May 14th, 2018) writing all the chapters and will pick up an actual schedule when the first year is finished. Sorry for the hold-up!
1. The Hunter or the Hunted

**Chapter 1: The Hunt or the Hunted  
**

* * *

 **AN: Little reminder!**

 **Dean is born on the 24th of January, 1979 so he is eleven years old in this fanfic.**

 **Sam is born on the 2nd of May, 1983 so he is seven years old in this fanfic.**

 **Harry is born on the 31st of July, 1980 so he is ten and won't join Hogwarts for another year, which should give Dean some time to adjust peacefully if he goes to study at Hogwarts, right? Right...** _ **Hogwarts and peace.**_

 **I don't own Supernatural nor do I own Harry Potter so consider this as the disclaimer for the entire story for however long it may last and everything will be peachy. ;)**

* * *

It is Tuesday afternoon, twenty-fourth of July, nineteen-ninety and the Winchester family along with Bobby Singer found themselves in a grimy inn in the heart of London, United Kingdom, for a very peculiar mission. But most importantly, John Winchester is currently not amused. As a matter of fact, he is very angry. But above all, he is anxious. Not that he would ever admit the latter to any of the occupants of the room.

Despite England being infamous for their endless rain, it is a rather sunny and warm day, so they had opened the windows to let in the crisp, cool air when a big, brown owl had flown in. Now it is strange enough for an owl to be spotted in the middle of the day in a big city like this, but that was not all. The owl had brought a letter addressed to Dean Winchester.

The two men were wary of the letter, to say the least, but Dean had made a scene and told them it was _his_ and that gave him the right to read it before they did. John couldn't remember the last time his eldest son has been this disobedient and Bobby eventually gave Dean his way. And that is how he got invited to join in the educational facilities for witches and wizards at a school called Hogwarts.

* * *

"He is not going," John stated in a tone that made it clear he is not open for any argument, _not that this particular stubborn moron would listen._

"Don't be an idjit, it's Dean's choice to make," Bobby informed him quite calmly, but John knew him well enough to tell that was a façade.

"It's too dangerous, I'm not going to let my son live his daily life with witches and wizards!" John shouted, pacing through the somber room. Two kids observed the ongoing argument with wide eyes, both were being awfully quiet.

"It can be dangerous for him _not_ to go," Bobby countered sharply and somewhere John knew he had a point. He swallowed and tried to steel himself against the creeping hopelessness that was fully committed to house in his chest.

"Nonsense, we have plenty of knowledge about magic and our recourses to keep him safe," he implied stubbornly.

"We don't know all the answers John, and you know it. Besides, Dean may learn a couple of very helpful skills. Hell, who knows what literature they have that we never even knew about!" Bobby said, being the annoying voice of reason.

"I am not going. I'm not leaving Sammy behind," Dean interfered, making it clear he had made up his mind. John looked at him as a war went on inside. A part of him is relieved, happy that Dean didn't want to leave the family business; the other part feels bad for putting his son in a position where he had to take on such responsibilities. John just stared at them, not sure to cheer on that decision or to tell Dean he didn't have to worry about his younger brother. Hell, John isn't even sure if he could say the latter without lying.

"That's okay Dean, why don't you and Sam go out to buy some ice cream?" Bobby said as he handed Dean some of his money.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean mumbled. He dragged Sam along by his arm, awakening the younger boy from his thoughts. The door fell closed behind them and the two men stood in complete silence until Bobby reopened the discussion.

"John, I know you try to do a good job with them and I know it is hard with all the hunter business, but that isn't normal. Every choice Dean makes is based on what's best for Sam," Bobby informed him, as if he had to tell John that.

John allowed himself to fall down in an armchair and brought his head to hang between his fingertips. He rubbed his hammering temple. Suddenly, he felt very tired and old.

"I think Dean wants to go but simply doesn't want to leave Sam behind," Bobby spoke the fact that John didn't want to face.

"I know, I know," he heard himself groan.

"We should just follow up on this lead and then I can see if I can rent something near Dean's school where Sammy and I can stay when we're done with the mission. I'm sure that idjit Rufus would understand and I can still help with research from here on out," Bobby offered, already making a plan that could work, yet it frightened the life out of John. Leaving his sons behind when he went back to the States? Would that really be a wise decision? Especially after the stuff he had found out? But he couldn't share that with anyone, not even Bobby. Not yet, at least.

"I can't leave Dean alone with an entire school of witches and wizards!" John yelled, terrified that Bobby wouldn't understand that.

"Oh come on, you know as well as I do that not all magic comes from demons. We have used magic plenty of times ourselves," Bobby reminded him, clearly annoyed. John buried his face in his hands as he tried to come up with an argument that he could safely use to make Bobby see it his way, but deep down he knew it was a futile attempt.

* * *

Meanwhile the boys had made it to a park bench viewing over the River Thames as they absentmindedly licked their ice creams. They knew full well that they were being sent away so the adults could talk to their heart's content and thus the boys had decided upon taking three scoops of different flavors of ice cream each. A little financial damage seemed like good payback for the treatment and there were just so many flavors to choose from!

"Dean?" Sam said timidly to gain his brother's attention.

"Yeah?" Dean answered casually, allowing Sam to continue even though his gut told him he didn't want to hear it.

"I think you should go, you don't have to worry about me, I can-" He fell silent, his shoulders slumping. Dean waited for him to continue, but his little brother seemed to be back in thought, contemplating his resolve. Or so Dean presumed.

"I know Sammy, but you're not going to lose your big brother that easily," he said teasingly with a big smirk. In response, Sam pushed hard enough for Dean to fall off the bench. _Seems like Sammy has more strength than I thought._ Dean noted to himself.

"You know I hate that nickname!" Sam said, slightly flustered by anger. _Ah, that sure is better than that moping from earlier._ Dean burst out in laughter. Sammy turned away from him as if to say he won't ever speak to him again. Once Dean calmed down he retook his seat and they silently ate their ice cream, both absorbed in their own thoughts once again. Dean had actually grown curious about this school – Hogwarts - and he wanted to see what it was all about, but then the reality of his life came back to him and he knew he can't be selfish like that. Dean let out a quiet sigh and looked around at the old stone buildings surrounding them. _Man, everything in this country feels ancient._

* * *

Sammy and Dean came back an hour later, it might not have been long enough for the adults to settle the fight, but going out for ice cream only takes so long and Dean had already stalled it. They spotted Uncle Bobby and their father sitting at the small dining table, both looking down at the table in complete silence. The soft ticking sound of the owl eating bread crumbs the only clear indication that time passed. Bobby shifted in his seat, and his eyes fell on the short hallway to the door.

"Ah, you two are back," Bobby said the moment he noticed them. John turned to look over his shoulder, but didn't say anything. If Dean didn't know better, he would say his father looked hurt and afraid.

"How was the ice cream?" John asked, finally breaking the tension in the room.

"It was great," Sammy answered for them as Dean handed Bobby the receipt and the small change. They went back to the awkward silence, causing feet to shuffle for several minutes.

"Come on, Sam, we should practice your hand to hand combat," Bobby murmured, having had enough of it. He gently pushed Sam out of the room and Dean attempted to follow them, thinking nothing strange of the situation as he mostly figured as the sparring partner anyway. He merely thought Bobby found it a good idea to give his father some alone time, which he didn't disagree on. _How wrong he was…_

"Dean, we need to talk," John said hoarse. Dean stood frozen with his back towards his father, not sure if he was ready for what could be coming. A dreadful thought crept up to his mind that sent a shiver down his spine. _What if dad decides to gank me for being chosen as a wizard student?_

* * *

 **AN: Did you know you can fill in the Impala as a character? That made me really happy, thehehe.**

 ** _Edit 01 Nov 2017: spelling, grammar, and styling._**


	2. I Ain't Wearing That!

Chapter 2: I Ain't Wearing That!

* * *

Yesterday Dean got a letter that might just tear up his family and now there's some old fella with the longest beard and hair he had ever seen standing in the door opening in some weird, blue dress. You know what? That's just great. Seriously.

 _True, they had sent the owl back with a letter claiming they weren't too sure what to make about all that, but to have a wizard on the doorstep the very next day without any warning whatsoever…_

"Can I help you?" Dean asked him, the skepticism dropping off his voice. To his dismay, that only seemed to amuse the old man.

"I'm not here for your help, Dean Winchester." Dean directly straightened up by the mention of his full name, his hand inching toward the gun in the back of his waistband, but before he could ask anything, or rather demand answers, or even draw the gun, the old man continued. "I am Albus Dumbledore,-" _Inwardly Dean snickered, does the guy even realize how stupid that sounded? Dumbbell Door? Hahaha! What a joke._ However, Dean made damn sure none of that amusement seeped through on his stoic expression. "-I am the headmaster of Hogwarts and I am here to explain our world of magic. Then, if you decide to come to Hogwarts, I will show you where to buy your school supplements," he explained. They continue to stare at each other until another question popped up in Dean's head.

"Isn't explaining the magical world and showing around students a bit below the tasks of a headmaster?" he scoffed, _saying it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous_.

"Ah, perhaps. Originally Professor Flitwick would assist you, but he wasn't feeling that chipper this morning so I came instead," the ancient wizard explained with a small smile. "Now, may I come in? I think it's time for some tea," he stated. Dean couldn't help but snicker. _Damn Englishmen and their tea…_ Albus looked at him quizzically but glanced over his head, into the room, when something fell down with a muffled _thump_. Instinctively Dean pulled the door closer to his side so he's pressed between the wall and the door, successfully blocking the wizards' view. "Where are your parents?" the wizard asked him a bit concerned.

"Dad's out, mom's dead," Dean answered with a careless shrug.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the Dumble-man said earnestly, his blue eyes twinkled softly behind his glasses.

"Dean, we're out of milk!" Sam shouted to him. Dean flinched, but didn't turn.

"I'll call Bobby and ask if he can pick it up, alright?" he shouts as he kept eye contact with the elder in front of him.

"But I want cornflakes now!" Sam whined. "I'm really hungry," he added in a murmur.

"I'm sorry, but this is a bad time," Dean informed the Dumble-man, hoping to get one conflict out of the way. "Can we reschedule this for, I don't know, tomorrow or something?" he asked. He wasn't too sure how he could solve both the issues at hand.

"Oh, I am perfectly capable to wait around for a bit and chat with you," Albus said as he revealed a glass bottle of milk and handed it to Dean. "I'm willing to drink it first if you don't trust it's safe," he declared after a short silence. After another " _Dean, I'm really hungry,"_ Dean caved with a sigh and pushed the door completely open so the old man could enter.

"Who is that?" Sammy asked a bit confused the moment the tall wizard came into his view.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts, a school your brother might go to if he wishes," Dumbledore explained to the younger child. He let his eyes curiously but discretely wander through the room, and noticed all the different guns, ammunition, knives, and a couple of sharpened wooden sticks laying around as well as various emptied beer bottles and one empty Scotch. A little startled he reminded himself that those kids are clearly from the United States and it's more common to have a working weapon collection there, even though he still couldn't believe the weapons were scattered everywhere with only the two kids around. Then he noticed the many lore books sprawled in the room and the little boy in front of him had an old, Latin version of the Bible next to his bowl. _Their father must be a supernatural hunter._ Albus didn't know how to feel about that, he had never crossed paths with a hunter himself, but Alastor sure wasn't very fond of them.

"I'm Sam Winchester," Sam replied as his brother joined them, grabbed a glass, and poured some milk in it before he handed it to Albus. Sam's eyes grew wide. "You got milk!" he exclaimed happily to Dean, who just grunted. Albus smiled at him and downs half of the glass. He licked his lips, as if he contemplated something very important.

"Ah, that was refreshing," he informed Dean with a wink, but the child still sniffed at the bottle, suspicion written over his young face, and poured a little bit of milk in another glass. He emptied that one himself. A moment passed and then he handed it to his younger brother. _If only I had been this protective as the older brother… Alas, not going there!_ Albus sat down at the dining table without waiting for the invitation and watched the youngest child now happily eating his cornflakes. Dean refilled his glass, this time completely, and sat down as a deep breath escaped him. Albus waited for the usual storm of questions, but there came none.

"I suppose your father is a supernatural hunter and you two are both very well informed…" He paused, eyeing Dean as the kid had shifted to sit up straight, his face hardened once again, and he seemed ready to attack or counter an oncoming attack. _Not just informed, I see._ "…But I am sure you still have questions for me?" he ended up asking, suddenly not too sure how much information they could have found on their own. Dean's lips tugged up in a giant smirk and he leaned on his forearms to get closer to the wizard.

"Just one," he said, his green eyes twinkling. "What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, causing his brother to spill milk out of his nostrils as he laughed, something that seemed to swell Dean's chest with pride and fondness. Albus chuckled along, earning a questioning look from the eldest boy.

"Those are called robes, it is standard wear for wizards," he explained to Dean. "Though most don't seem to go for pale blue." He admitted it in a manner as if he just came to that realization.

"I'm not going to wear something like that," Dean stated through clenched teeth, earning another burst of laughter from Sam and an amused smile from the wizened wizard. His cheeks to flustered a bit. "Anyway, I should probably call Bobby and tell him to get his ass back here," he mumbled and Dumbledore frowned slightly at the language, but Dean didn't seem to notice and Sam didn't give any reaction, so he let it go.

Dean got up, shoving his chair back in the progress, and walked towards the small corridor with the entrance. A click from the phone sounded softly and soon Dean was whispering in the phone, making sure the wizard couldn't make out the conversation. But the kid never took his eyes off Albus, and that frightened him a little. _What exactly have these kids been through?_

* * *

Bobby just walked out of the library as his gigantic phone rang and to his horror it showed the inn's number on its tiny screen. It wasn't like Dean to call when they were out. Bobby hated to admit it, even to himself, but the kid was tough and could handle himself quite well, so for Dean to call…

"What's going on, Dean?" he demanded more than asked. He needed the bad news now he thought as he hurried to his hired Volkswagen Jetta. It was a four door, dark blue, amidst the mud, from nineteen-eighty-five and had an one point eight GT engine. It wasn't bad, but it held nothing against his Chevelle back home. Stupidly enough, he stepped into the passenger seat. _Cursed Englishmen with their driving on the other side!_

"A wizard showed up, he says he's the headmaster from Hogwarts," the kid informed Bobby right away. "Sam and I are fine," he added before Bobby could say anything. He let himself fall in the driver's seat and jammed the key in the contact. "I tried to send him away, but Sam was hungry and we hadn't any milk left and the old man offered me a bottle, which he drank first, so he is inside now," Dean explained in a hush.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Bobby promised him. He hung up and hit the gas pedal.

Eight minutes later, for once being lucky with this city of hell traffic, he busted into the room, rifle in his hands. He saw Dean and Sam sitting stiffly at the table in front of a calm, very old and odd looking man. Bobby hesitantly lowered the rifle a little, feeling slightly more relaxed but he didn't drop his vigilance.

"Bobby, you're back!" Sam called out. He ran over to hug Bobby around the waist, Dean not far behind his brother. Bobby patted Sam on the head and stalked over to the old man.

"Bobby Singer," he grunted, offering his hand, which the wizard shook.

"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore informed him. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, and to his credit, he never once looked down at the gun, seemingly perfectly comfortable with the entire situation. He was probably the only one. Bobby nodded at him before sitting down, the kids following suit.

"So what is this school of yours like?" the hunter asked, cutting straight to business.

"Hogwarts is a school where young witches and wizards from the age of eleven to eighteen learn how to use and control their magic. We offer Astronomy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions and Transfiguration. In addition first years are also taught how to fly on broomsticks-" This caused the boys to chuckle. "-and from their third school year they can choose between several elective classes, those being Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies-" Bobby's " _what?"_ got ignored. "-and Study of Ancient Runes. Then there are also extra-curricular subjects…" he ended his dialogue.

"What are Muggle Studies?" Bobby asked, a little annoyed the man just went on without elaborating.

"It informs the children about the lives of people who don't use magic. We refer to those people as Muggles," Dumbledore explained.

"Why would they need that?" he asked, failing to conceal the suspicion.

"Some students are born in magical families and have been living in our hidden community their entire lives, this can cause certain ignorance and misunderstandings," Dumbledore elaborated. Bobby wasn't too sure what to think about that, but nodded anyway.

"How about classes like English, Maths, History, Geography," Bobby paused and turned to the kids. "What else do you kids have nowadays?" He didn't give them the time to answer. "Nevermind, you get my point."

"We trust that gets covered enough in the core classes. There are a lot of essays that needs to be written which also are checked on spelling, punctuation and grammar. Potions covers basic Mathematics and those who want more of a challenge can go for Arithmancy in the third year. History of Magic and Muggle Studies cover part of both Muggle History and Geography," the wizard explained calmly.

"Where is this school located?"

"In the highlands of Scotland, between the mountains, well hidden from curious, prying eyes and protected to those that wish any harm upon the school and her students," the wizard explained with a faintest hint of pride. He must have noticed Bobby's surprised face since he answered the unspoken question. "The students live in their respective dormitories in the castle during their enrollment, however many decide to go home during the holidays and I can set up a portkey to let Dean travel instantly to your place across the pond."

"What is a portkey?" Sam asked curiously before anyone else could.

"It can be any object that gets magically enchanted and then it takes the person touching it straight to a previously set destination, quite handy if I do say so myself," Dumbledore said with a wink.

"Why am I invited to join your school when I'm from America?" Dean asked. Bobby mentally facepalmed himself for not asking that sooner himself.

"The original founders set up charms that seek out any magical person around England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland and Northern Ireland and then addresses the envelopes," the wizard answered. Dean seemed to think about that deeply. Another silence filled the room until Dumbledore gave a small cough to draw their attention again.

"Well, if you don't have any more questions, then I would like your answer so we may or may not go shopping," he said to Dean, but also looked at Bobby and Sam, indicating that they can ask any remaining questions as well.

"But dad hasn't had the opportunity to ask whatever he needs to know," Dean told him a little saddened. The old wizard looked up to the only other adult with slight surprise.

Before anyone could say anything else, the door got slammed against the wall and a disheveled John limbs in, blood dripping from an awful gash in his right forearm that he supported with his other hand. Before Bobby could even react, Dean was at his father's side, closely followed by a distressed Sam who hugged his father's waist tightly and buried his face in the open, leather jacket. Dean looked left and right out of the door before closing it and repairing the line of salt his father had broken. Then, as good as his small frame let him, he aided his father to the nearest bed and went to hand him a beer from the small fridge.

"Lemme take a look at that," Bobby grumbled. He shoved a stool in front of the bed and grabbed the first aid kit from a high shelf.

"Dad, what happened?" Dean asked as he placed a plastic bottle of water and some towels next to John on the bed for Bobby to use.

"I was looking into a salt and burn when knives started flying around the house. Some dresser also fell on top of me from the second floor when I tried to get outta there," John grunted. After emptying half his beer, he asked. "What's the deal with Gandalf over here?"

"Dad, he is the headmaster of that Wizarding School Dean got invited to," Sam told him quietly, yet excited about the whole thing. The two brothers started to tell him what had been asked and said, with the occasional interruption of John asking a question on his own and Dumbledore answering, elaborating and confirming as Bobby stitched up the gash in John's arm. The man took it far better than Bobby had anticipated. Eventually the conversation led to Dean not wanting to leave Sammy behind and the fact that it was a boarding school was kind of a deal breaker for him.

"Dean, I already told ya father that I'll get some house nearby where Sam and I will be. I'll get that idjit Rufus to get my stuff over here so I can still help other hunters over the phone. Ya don't have to worry about it," Bobby assured him. This, however sparked some interest in Dumbledore.

"I am fairly interested in the way you deal with the supernatural and I would like to offer you a job as teacher for a new subject based on it. You will be assigned to living accommodations within the castle and Sam is also welcome to stay," he offered. Bobby scratched the back of his head awkwardly. His old cap moved up a bit and casted a shadow over his eyes as he thought about it. _Sure, teaching Dean and Sam is no biggie, the kids were clever and quick on the uptake. But entire classes?_ He wasn't too sure if he was up for the task.

"The school is in a castle?!" Dean asked in bewilderment, Dumbledore simply nodded. "Woah…" he murmured in awe.

"I don't know, it doesn't involve a lot of magic use," Bobby said hesitantly.

"It will be good for them to defend themselves without relying on their wands," Dumbledore stated simply.

"You said the school is in the middle of nowhere, how would that work with Sam's education?" John asked, not that he really cared about his son's' education school wise, but Sam liked to maintain some sort of normality.

"I am sure we can arrange something with the staff to homeschool him," Dumbledore answered casually.

"No, I hate homeschooling," Sam told him off with a disgusted expression. "Can't you just zap Bobby over when I'm at school and back when he's done teaching?" he suggested, causing the others to stare in amazement at the clever solution.

"That could work, I can make a special portkey or connect your fireplace to the floo network," Dumbledore said, thinking aloud.

"The what now?" John and Bobby asked in stereo. A long explanation over transportation via fireplaces followed, leaving the Winchesters and Singer stunned and speechless. After they recovered from the new piece of information, Bobby found himself agreeing to the position of the teacher for the new subject dubbed Wandless Defence.

"So, shall we go buy some supplies?" Dumbledore asked them. Dean finally turned his back to the wizard to look at Bobby and John, who both nodded encouragingly in an attempt to say that they're behind his every decision.

"Yeah, let's get this over with," Dean answered with a half smile.

* * *

To say they drew attention as they strolled over the busy Charing Cross Road was an understatement. People stopped whatever they were doing to stare after them. Then again, how often do you see a man that looked like he already lived through an entire century dressed in blue robes and spotting waist length silver white hair and beard? Especially when this eccentric individual is being followed by two little kids, both in dark denim jeans, the older one wearing a dark red gingham blouse and the youngest in a beige tee with red and blue stripes. The strange company was closed by two men, one with dark hair and a very short kept beard, in dark grey jeans and a brown leather jacket, the other one spotted a slightly longer, dirty blond beard, an old trucker cap, a dark blue blouse and a beige body warmer over it. They formed a huge contrast to the Brits walking there in colourful tees, tank tops, shorts, skirts and breezy dresses.

Most of the Brits felt hot only thinking about having to wear a similar outfit on a sunny day like this. But none of the odd company seemed to be bothered by it. It turned even stranger when the group entered a rundown shop at a corner. To the normal civilians' knowledge, the store was empty and had always been like that. Maybe they bought it and were opening a shop? Some tried to look through the dusty windows, but they couldn't make anything out. Soon, everything carried on as if the strange group of five never passed through.

* * *

It was like stepping back in time, the once white plastered walls were discoloured and at some places the creamy white brick stones came through the plaster work. There were old maps and paintings of what they assumed were popular historical witches and wizards nailed to the wall, all kind of messy as if the one that decorated the place didn't care if they hung straight. Some of the paintings were even overlapping each other.

Right in front of them was a long dining table that claimed the middle of the space. It was occupied by two lone witches, as far away from each other as they could, and both were reading a newspaper of which the photographs seemed to move. Sam felt his jaw fall ajar as he noticed the tea of one of the witches being stirred by itself and then it exclaimed that the brew was cooled down enough to drink. Behind the table was an old saloon bar with a greying man behind it who seemed to be in a heavy discussion with a far younger looking man with light blond hair. A man in dark green robes, a short brown beard that featured several grey strokes and identical shoulder length hair came walking toward them with a big grin.

"Albus, how ya doing ol' chap?" the man said with a cheery voice as he embraced the older wizard in blue and gave him a pat on the back.

"Reliyus! What a pleasant surprise. Did you get my owl?" the headmaster asked, oblivious to John's and Bobby's discomfort.

"Ah yes, but she hasn't decided yet. You know how Suyilae is," the man called Reliyus answered with a light chuckle. "But I'm sure she will take on the position," he added with another big smile.

"I hope she will. She will be a wonderful teacher for the students of Hogwarts." The headmaster nodded to himself. "Which brings me back to my task at hand, Reliyus, these people are Sam, Dean and John Winchester and Bobby Singer," he said as he signaled to each of them when he put a name to the face. "Everyone, this is Reliyus Stainthorpe."

"Pleasure to meet you," Reliyus says to them with a small bow.

"You too," They got out, but Reliyus attention was on Albus again, who told him that Bobby would be attending as a teacher and continued in a far quieter tone to explain what they did with their lives. The honey brown eyes of the man to grew wide, but not with fear, with curiosity and anticipation.

"Is that so?" he said in the same quiet tone, full of enthusiasm. "That is marvelous!" he exclaimed as he turned to address the hunters. "I would love to learn more about all this, but duty calls," he announced, regret clear on his face, and he excused himself before leaving the bar via the door they had entered through. The bartender waved to Albus and Albus waved back then pointed to the backroom and the man went back to his conversation. They walked past the bar through a door that let to a small alleyway with trash bins, old grates, and various empty bottles. The group circled around to check their surrounding.

"What kind of joke is this?" John grumbled, but no one answered him as they all watched how the wall in front of them started to form an archway. It showed a busying little street, the cobbled road and small, old and crooked townhouses made it feel more like stepping back in time than any other place they had gone through so far. And that was without taking in the old fashioned shop signs and the crowd that walked around in robes, although Albus' robes indeed didn't seem a trending fashion among the other wizards and witches. In fact, most seemed to go for darker colours. All four stared in awe at the world they got introduced to and they blindly followed Dumbledore through the street. Their heads kept snapping left and right in an attempt to take in the various shops and their articles on window display. _Yeah, this is a world I would like to get used to…_ Sam thought to himself in content.

Sam couldn't help but stop in front of a store called Quality Quidditch Supplies that had _broomsticks_ of all things on display. They were laid out as if they were some superior item. A bunch of kids had grouped up around the shop, drooling in front of the window as excitedly talked about one of the articles. Sam barely noticed that Dean had stopped as well.

"What is the big deal about them?" John asked skeptical, looking at the group of kids.

"Why flying of course!" Dumbledore answered. John mumbled something that sounded a lot like " _You've got to be fucking kidding me,"_ but it didn't seem that the wizard noticed. "I am afraid I have to remind you that first years aren't allowed to have their own brooms," Dumbledore told Dean, probably assuming he stopped Sam to look at it together.

"No, I'm good. They look like real nutcrackers," Dean answered him, almost shocked that the man dared to imply that he'd fly on a broomstick. A woman that happened to walk by with her son (who couldn't have been much older than Dean), hmph'd in disapproval and pushed her son to walk past the two brothers quickly. It broke any control Sam still held over his laughter. Even Dumbledore chuckled at the witch's' antics.

"Yes, it does take some getting used to," he agreed earnestly. He's about to go on his way again, when he noticed Bobby was staring at a shop with a sign naming it "Flourish & Blott's Stationery Shop". It showed many thick, leather bound books in the window with several richly filled shelves lined up on the inside. "We will go in there when we are done at the bank. I am afraid financial matters have to be taken care of first," Dumbledore said half apologetically with a warm and understanding smile.

They continued to follow the old wizard to a brilliant white building made of marble, the entrance and the small balconies on the second and third levels were decorated and supported by four columns each, not that they seemed to do a very good job, seeing as they were all tilted in opposite directions on each level. In letters that seemed to gleam a faint gold it read 'GRINGOTTS BANK' above. They moved up the few steps to the burnished bronze doors that were flanked by two strange, short creatures in scarlet and gold coloured uniforms. John tensed slightly as the warning engraved on the doors caught their eyes.

" _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there."_

Grimly Sam thought back about all the times Dean had to leave to steal food and money for them when their dad didn't return in time, and he could only imagine how his father got to his money. Yeah, they definitely were no strangers to theft, but never had a warning struck harder to that realization than this, at least for Sam.

The strange creatures didn't seem to notice their unease and opened the doors for them so they could enter the amazingly high hall with the biggest chandelier probably ever created in the center of it. The side walls held many torches. The high desks where more of those same creatures sat, all had a few candles on them as well, which Sam felt was very dangerous as large staples of parchment flew around and lists so long it hung to the floor appeared to be a common sight. They walked over to one of the desks. Dumbledore cleared his throat to let the creature know of their presence while he patiently waited for the creature to finish writing with a long, green quill. Sam guessed he's the only one ignorant about those creatures and could no longer stand it seeing as they're about to interact with them.

"Dean, what are they?" He asked in a whisper, not wanting to piss any of them off by overhearing him.

"I'm not too sure, but I think they're goblins." He answered, wariness and a tinge of annoyance clear in his voice.

"That's right." Albus confirmed to their amazement. They didn't expect to be overheard. The goblin decided to pay attention to his guests now and asked what their business was in a rather rude tone. _Did I offend it, him?_ Sam asked himself.

"I want to open a new account for my newest staff member, Professor Robert Steven Singer, and one for the family Winchester," The old wizard stated, unfazed by the tone of the goblin.

"Very well," the goblin answered and handed Dumbledore various forms to fill in. A lot of paperwork and weird identification techniques later revealed that there was a very old family vault from a really far distant relative of the Campbell family from centuries ago and Dean and Sam were declared the rightful heirs, which seemed to upset John a little. Dean had to sign over the contract to accept to be the one in charge of the vault's account and Sam would get shared custody over it if he got enrolled into Hogwarts as well, seeing as that was one of the requirements stated in the Heritage Act. Dean was handed a tiny, old looking silver key opposed to Bobby's gleaming new one and then another goblin by the name of Graggok came over to lead them to the two vaults. Well, except for Albus, he said he wanted to see what he could find out about their ancestor, so the hunters happily left him to those formalities while they went to see what they inherited.

* * *

It was weird. Yesterday the hunters were complete strangers to this part of the Supernatural and today Dean found out that they, or at least he, inherited a vault at a bank runned by goblins. _Somehow, it did ease my nerves about the whole idea of attending a magic school though._ Dean thought.

Dean walked closely behind the little goblin man, Sammy next to him and the adults closed their little height parade. Opposed to the bright marble hall they just left, this corridor was dark and dimly lighted by a few torches and the old fashioned, heavy lantern the goblin had given to John. They stopped by a thin railway and Dean looked down, b _ig mistake._ There was a gaping, endless black pit beneath it. An old cart came towards them to board and the goblin climbed in, signaling to the humans to do the same, so Dean mentally kicked himself under the ass and climbed in on the backseat before anyone else could move. John came to sit next to Dean and Sammy next to him so Bobby grudgingly took the front seat.

It was a wild ride, John had to press both kids down, afraid they would fly off otherwise, and Dean had to keep telling himself it was just a rollercoaster, a well maintained vehicle, instead of a centuries old mine railway that some magic nutjob made. They stopped and their guide announced they had reached vault five-hundred and forty-eight. Sammy surely enjoyed the ride, he had one of those rare, big grins plastered on his face as they got out to stare at a big, iron door.

"Key please," Graggok asked Bobby who handed him the little key. The vault opened to reveal its large inside, large enough for everyone to enter it. In the far left corner was a staple of a couple of bronze, silver and golden coins, the first month's salary he would get as a teacher as the wizard had explained on their way to the Leaky Cauldron. Bobby decided to pick half of each of the different coins and threw them in a brown leather pouch provided by the goblin. They then were requested to get back in the cart to go down further. The cart kept racing through the sharp turns and Dean almost his cool when he suddenly got soaked.

"That was the Thief's Downfall! It gets rid of any concealments or enchantments!" Graggok explained proudly. Then they stopped in front of another very heavy looking iron door, this time with more detailed engravings and the number eight-hundred and eighty-eight shined towards them.

"Key please." The goblin asked again, this time to Dean. He handed the little silver key and the goblin pinched a needle in his fingertip to let a drop of blood fall on the key before inserting it the door and chanting in a short sentence in a weird language.

" _Anoichtí parakaló."_ A rattling sound followed before the door swayed inwards. There were several gems and coins as well as two old crossbows and a sword. Dean went in first, examining the old crossbows, which looked like they had been through some fights, but otherwise seemed to be in good condition. John had picked up the sword, weighing it in his hands and then touched the edged side of blade slightly, but immediately cut his finger.

"Well that's some sharp silver," he grunted appreciatively and Dean smiled before going over to the considerably large amount of money. _It is kinda nice to actually own the money…_ He proceeded to fill a pouch with the weird coins and they headed back, leaving still a large stack of the coins, the gems and the weapons behind in the vault.

The wizard explained to them that their ancestor, a certain Ranulf Campbell, who was born in fifteen-thirty-three in Scotland and died in fifteen-eighty-two on the job as a Hit Wizard – some kind of Magic Police or something – was the last owner of the vault, his grandmother, Senga, had been the original owner and had set up her account the year after Gringotts had been founded. Ranulf had married a Muggle woman and none of his children seemed to have any magic, but his line of work caused him to make many enemies and thus he taught them how to defend themselves without magic. The bank didn't know what happened to most of the kids, aside that his oldest son, Nathaniel, had moved to the United States somewhere in the sixteen-hundreds. Nathaniel had even been a part of the establishment of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA for short, in sixteen-ninety-three, despite having no magical abilities himself.

The information made Dean wonder if that was why his mother had died during the fire that creature had put on in Sammy's nursery. Could their house really have been targeted because of Ranulf's job all those centuries ago? The only ones that might hold more answers were the wizard and his dad, but he couldn't just ask them directly.

Sammy, Bobby and even John wanted to go to the book shop next, but the headmaster convinced them to enter the damn robe store first. Well, not that anyone gave Dean much room to start an argument, anyway. The store was quiet, and there were plenty of racks with different coloured robes for all occasions, or at least that was what the sign above the entrance had claimed.

"Good morning to you gentlemen!" a woman Dean assumed was Madam Malkin called out as she came from the back of the shop. "Ah, hello there Albus. I hope your order of robes have arrived?" she asked when she saw who was in her store.

"Yes, they are all lovely, as always," Dumbledore answered her with a small bow.

"What do you need? I'm sure we have your size!" the woman said with light flustered cheeks to the other four occupants in her shop.

"We're here to get a school uniform for Dean," John informed her as he smacked his son lightly on the shoulder, which earned him an annoyed glare.

"First year, dear?" she asked me knowingly. _It´s a good thing she´s such a granny with her grey hair and wrinkles around her kind, round features, otherwise she would have never gotten away with that._ Dean told himself. Instead, he just grumbled a yes and before anything else could be said or done, she dragged him to the back of the shop and hurried him to stand on top of a small stool. She then proceeded to throw something black over Dean. He look at the mirror behind the old lady and saw he was wearing a simple, black robe that fell straight down. Dean paled.

"Oh no, I ain't wearing this!" He shouted, determined. _Not even if Hell would freeze over!_

"I agree with the kid," Bobby said and Dean turned around to see him being fitted into dark blue robes with black and white patterns on the forearm part of the sleeves. His face was even more sour than usual and he had a deep frown between his eyebrows as he looked himself over in the mirror. Sammy just laughed his little ass off and even John was chuckling.

"Now, now, no need to look so sour, dear. Let those beautiful eyes of you shine! The robe really accentuates them," Madam Malkin told him as she looked over from her work to Bobby and her assistant. "Good job on picking the colour, Elsa! Navy blue really suits him," she compliments the other, younger woman who smiled brightly at that. "And I'm afraid you'll have to wear your uniform during classes, Dean," she informed me. "But you can change into whatever you want to after the classes, right Albus?"

"That's right."

"At least you don't have to worry about standing out!" Sammy gave his two cents.

"Shut it, little brother," Dean snapped to him, which earned him a disapproving look from Madam Malkin, that of course, only entertained Sammy even more. Dean's resistance towards the robes proved to be futile and he ended up paying eighty Sickles, which turned out to be the silvery coins, for a set of three robes, including, to his delight, the black trousers, white blouses and black sweaters. Madam Malkin also had the dragon hide gloves, which were sixty-two sickles, and a winter cloak for one-hundred and fifty Sickles. Dean also needed a pair of black work boots that were two gold coins and then she came with the worst thing yet, a pointed hat!

"No frigging way in hell!" He dodged as the evil witch tried to put it on top of his head and he quickly jumped backwards, off the stool. He took several steps back to get as far away as possible. She sighed and eventually gave up, and measured Dean's head to get the hat to the right size. Dean ended up paying twenty-three of those giant, gold coins and she gave some bronze back as change. _Shit was expensive!_ From what Dean remembered of the explanation at the bank, one of the gold coins equaled seven dollars and thirty-five cents, that would be close to one-hundred and sixty-six dollars and this only was the first store! Bobby ended up buying three robes as well, but ended up paying only seven of the gold coins.

Next was inevitably the book store. Dean tried to reason that these books were massive and it would be best to get them last so they wouldn't have to walk around with them all day, but of course no one was listening to him. The prices of all the books he needed started to make his head spin, and he was wondering if there would be enough in that damn vault to buy the supplies for both him and his brother for those seven years they were to attend the school. Dean paid for them anyway. He had gone with the robes, might as well finish it off.

Sammy, Bobby, and John were still lost in various books so Dumbledore suggested that Dean and himself would go ahead and we would meet back up at the ice saloon in three hours. _Three hours, really?! Dean was inwardly horrified,_ but the old wizard pushed him out of the book store with surprising strength.

They walked past the bank again and went to a store that read Ollivander's Wand Shop. It was dark and extremely dusty with many small boxes stacked up on shelves. Another old man appeared, his eyes shining as white as his messy, snowy hair. Everything about the old man just screamed " _Look out! Eccentric wizard ahead!"_ which made Dean smile a little, and the wizard smiled back at him, an unsettling one at that.

"Hello, here for your first wand?" he asked as he started to rummage in a drawer of his desk to retrieve a tapeline that started measuring Dean on its own as the eccentric guy walked behind the shelves.

"Yeah," Dean said while he eyed the tapeline warily.

"You seem to make the Vine wands quite eager," Mister Ollivander mused more to himself than to Dean. He returned with several shaking boxes, some of them even emitting different lights. "You see, Vine wands are strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths and often astound those who think they know them best. These wands can instantly feel when a prospective match is close, but I never saw so many of them reacting," he explained to me, probably thanks to his shocked face.

"Are wands alive?" Dean asked him in disbelief.

"In some sense you could say that, a wand chooses its owner, even when the reason isn't always clear," the wand maker explained to Dean. He opened a box and pushed a wand into his hand. "Unicorn tail hair, eleven and half inches," he stated.

"Wait, unicorns are real?!" Dean asked, stunned at the revelation.

"Of course they are!" the wand maker exclaimed. "Come on then, give it a swing!" he urged Dean as he just stared at him, completely dazzled. Dean barely finished the motion when the desk caught fire. "Nope, nope, nope! Not this one," Ollivander stated. He snitched the wand back. It quickly became clear that unicorn tail hair and Dean were not a good match as several of Ollivander's stuff broke, but the old fool only seemed to enjoy himself and of course the other wizard was smiling as well.

Seven unicorn tail hair, eleven dragon heartstring, four phoenix feather and two thestral tail hair wands later, Dean finally found his match with a Thunderbird tail hair as core, hidden within a thirteen and a quart inches of Vine.

"I can't believe my father's experimental wand has found a match," the man said. "Shikoba Wolfe from the United States used to make wands with Thunderbird tail feathers in the early twentieth century, which caused my father to try it, too. They are extremely powerful wands but very difficult to master, you see, Ollivander informed them. Dean just stared at the thin wood, it was straight and dark, the handle polished to a lighter shade and graved so it had a comfortable grip. Dean paid for the wand and they left the store behind.

"Mister?" Dean asked the old wizard as they once again stood outside on the busy street.

"Yes, my boy?"

"Do you know what happened to my mother?" Dean asked. He watched Dumbledore's face closely as small lines of confusion appeared.

"I don't," he answers simply.

"She died in a fire that started in my brother's nursery when he was six months old," Dean informed him. Dumbledore's eyes turned soft. "My dad is convinced it was something supernatural. That is why we are living this hunter life," Dean explained briefly. "Do you think it attacked our house because of Ranulf?" Dean asked.

"Perhaps, but are you sure it was indeed supernatural and not an unfortunate accident?" Dumbledore asked.

"Heh." Dean smiled a wry smile. "I saw my mom stuck to the ceiling with her gut cut open, but sure! Maybe it was just an accident."

"You saw it happen?" Dumbledore asked stunned.

"No, I only saw the result," Dean answered, not sure where the wizard was getting at. He kept quiet as he contemplated something. "What is it?" Dean asked him, irritated that the wizard wasn't sharing whatever was on his mind, _it is my mother after all._

"Just the pensiveness of an old man trying to figure out what it could have been and what it means." he shrugged, but Dean knew that one already. His question had been avoided. "Nothing to concern a young mind with." Dean rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, next time just tell me you don't want to share something with me," Dean stated before he entered the nearest store and left a perplexed Dumbledore behind.

Dean entered a joke shop. Of all places, he would walk into a wizarding joke shop! It quickly perked up his soured mood and he ended up buying a few things to try out with, _or on,_ Sam, including carrot wands and frog spawn soaps. Dean also got some non-heat fireworks to try out. Leaving with a better mood, he once again met up with the wizard outside and they quickly went to buy Dean's last needed supplies at the other end of Diagon Alley before they headed to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor where the rest were already sitting, robes and books in bags and a birdcage with a beautiful tawny owl in it.

"Took you long enough!" Sammy shouted when he spotted them. "This is Karen, Bobby bought her since wizards use them for their post," he explained while pointing to the sleeping owl. They ordered some scoops of ice and talked about the day, which probably was the most normal closure of a day they had in a very long time.

* * *

\

 **AN: According to the Wikia, John Winchester is born on the 19** **th** **of July, 1954, the same year as J.R.R. Tolkien released The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers, so given the success the Lord of the Ring trilogy had (and still has), I figure John would have read them somewhere in his youth.**

 **The Leaky Cauldron is said to be placed at the Charing Cross Road.**

 **I was brainstorming for a name for Reliyus and my mind wandered off to the Roman Golden Era which in turn led to me thinking about Marcus Aurelius and then I came to Relius. But that seemed a bit dull to me so I added the y to give it more uniqueness. My mind is random like that.**

 **Suyilae is a play with the anagram for Reliyus, Suyiler kinda intrigued me, so I tweaked it to be slightly more feminine.**

 **Stainthorpe originally indicated a person from Staindrop (Durham), England, which means "valley with stony ground" from Old English stæner meaning "stony ground" and hop meaning "valley". Source: Behind the Name.**

 **There was never a goblin named Graggok mentioned by J.K. Rowling, it's an OC for the sake of diversity at the bank.**

 **Harry's vault is 687, but vault 713 with the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone in it has a bigger security measure so I figured the higher the number, the deeper down and the better the security is.  
I wasn't planning on some Campbell ancestor being magical, but it would explain how the entire Campbell family is into the hunter business and it made the bank visit more interesting, didn't it? :)**

 **Anoichtí parakaló is Greek for "open please" which is not very creative, but oh wel** l.

 **The Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA) has been mentioned on Pottermore and in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.**

 **If you go to the Campbell Family on the Supernatural Wikia, you can find a man named Nathaniel Campbell with the information that he's their great-great-great grandfather and moved from Scotland to the US, which fits me just fine. Ranulf and Senga are OC, though.**

 **Gringotts Wizarding Bank was established in 1474.**

 **A Hit Wizard or Witch is quite similar to the work of an Auror, but it's easier to become one. The Wikia compares the two as Special Forces, like Navy and Seals, since there is also the Magical Law Enforcement Squad who appear to figure more as an ordinary police branch. For the sake of the fanfic, hit wizards and witches will focus more on the criminal behavior of the Supernatural.**

 **J.K. Rowling released an exchange course once for the Wizarding Currency to different Muggle Currencies, including the USD, so I used that. I figured Dean is skilled in doing sums in his head for his line of work and for the hustling and poker games.**

 **Vine wands, though they're not wood, make very special wands and are among the less common types. I trust Ollivander's speech about them informs you enough as to why I chose this type.**

 **There wasn't really a core I found fitting, so I decided to go for something more unique. The thunderbird is closely related to the phoenix and their wands are also praised by transfigures, but that doesn't have to mean anything, of course. I just liked it because thunderbirds are from America and Frank was friggin' gorgeous in the Fantastic Beasts movie.**

 _ **Edit 01 Nov 2017: spelling and grammar.**_


	3. Monstrous Summer Camp

**Chapter 3: Monstrous Summer Camp**

* * *

 **AN: Hi, it's been awhile! I changed the writing style… I updated the first two chapters to match it, but plot-wise it stayed the same. Enjoy the new addition! ;)**

* * *

" _You're going out on a hunt, again?" Sammy had shouted angrily when Dean had been busy packing his duffel bag again. It had only been a few hours after Dean and John returned from killing some ghouls in Neath, Wales. It had been over a three and a half hour drive from their inn in London, but John had done it in less than two._

" _Yeah Sammy, you know those monsters don't wait for us to go hunt for the kicks," Dean had reminded him. Sammy didn't know much about the evil yet and just wanted to be a kid without having to worry so much about stuff nobody else believed in. Dean understood that, heck, sometimes he'd wanted they were clueless about it all, too._

" _You ready to go, son?" their had father asked the moment he got out of the bathroom. Dean couldn't do much more than nod and tell assure brother that he'd see him later._

John had decided to go on as many hunts with Dean before September arrived as possible, and thus Dean didn't get to spend that much time with Sam anymore. It had already been four weeks (which made it Wednesday, the twenty-third of August) since they went to buy the school supplies, and Sam had thrown countless tantrums every time Dean wa about to leave. Tonight had been no different, and so Dean sat in the Volkswagen Jetta Bobby had rented (since Bobby had no more use for it now that Rufus had brought his stuff and the Chevelle to London), thinking about his little brother instead of the task at hand. They were on a hunt, here, in London.

When John first mentioned that he thought about there being a vampire nest, Bobby had laughed and happily pointed out that Mister Dumbledore told them the Ministry of Magic was located in London as well, and they had the means and forces to go after anything that went rogue that had to do with " _the hidden world"_ as Bobby now dubbed it.

Six police case files laid on Dean's lap, four women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six had been found dead, three of them had come out of the River Thames. The pictures weren't pretty. The other one was found buried in Victoria Park, a decently sized park in the North East part of London, near Stratford. It had three small lakes and the body had been dumped in the soft soil close to some bushes to cover it up. Kathy Jackson, a nineteen year old blonde girl that stared with glassy dead blue eyes from the picture into Dean's.

The bodies varied from none to severe traumas. Up until a week ago, none of the cases were deemed related, since aside from the fact that they were all young and their blood was completely drained from them, they didn't have much in comparison. Her skin pale and blue was another clear identification that she was long gone. There was another picture next to it that showed her covered in mud in the dirty, shallow grave that she had been rotting in. Kathy had disappeared when she was last seen at the Sebright Arms for a live music concert a week or two ago.

It was pure coincidence they found Kathy. The police had been looking for a twenty-one year old man that went missing after a night at The Approach Tavern. They searched the area, including Victoria Park, and the police dogs found Kathy instead. Kathy had been … victim with her blood completely drained out, so that's when the police started to connect the cases.

The first victim, or at least the longest decaying body they found, was a twenty-four year old man, Michael Anderson, that some poor guy fished up out of a river a little over a month ago. Michael had some chain marks on his wrists, a bite in his neck, and a blue eye. Aside from that, his body was clean of any other injuries and the autopsy report stated that the cause of death was that he bled dry within a minute. The good doctor had made a note saying that it was a strange case since none of the injuries could have done that to him. About two weeks after they found Michael, the twenty-six years old Jenny McGarden had been found, soon after the twenty-three year old Danielle Abbott. All out of the same river. Just like Kathy, and the twenty-one year old boy missing, everyone of them disappeared after a night out in the city.

John figured that the nest had to be close to the locations of those pubs as that seemed to be the standard hunting ground. John narrowed it down to Hackney Road, the street where they had pulled over and settled in for an old fashioned stakeout. There was a creepy, old building that caught Dean's attention which he was now drawing in his very own hunter journal that his father had gifted him. John had told him that he would probably learn a lot more about the weird creatures that could go bump in the night than any other hunter, and that Dean should have a means to document it. Dean glanced out of the window when John returned with some food and plopped next to him in the driver's seat.

"I doubt that their hideout is the children's hospital, Ace," John said after a quick glance to see what his son was drawing. Dean felt his head heat up. "Though I admit it doesn't look very cozy," John added, surprisingly light hearted.

"It reminds me of The Murder Clinic," Dean said with a small scoff. "Just a little less isolated." John bit in his burger and gave the building another look. He swallowed loudly.

"Yeah, I suppose so." He was just about to gab his coke when someone knocked on the window. With a inaudible curse, John rolled the window down to talk to the officer.

"Good evening sir, I have to ask you to move the vehicle," the cop said. John felt relieved, glad that it wasn't another smarty-pants that tried to be funny with their so called British humor. Just some guy that directly got to business.

"Good evening, officer," John said, thankful Bobby had pushed him to take the time and learn a British accent. "I'm sorry, but I can't move this vehicle. MI6 business." He proceeded to show the badge, but the blue-suit wasn't having it.

"Why is there a kid on MI6 business?" He asked. His forehead frowned and John assumed the guy had his eyebrows raised, but the hairs were too light to tell for sure.

"Listen officer…?"

"Carnago."

"Officer Carnago," John affirmed with a single nod. "I understand you're just doing your job, so am I." John's rough edges seemed to soften as a tired man started to shimmer through. "But I can't just go on ahead and discuss the details of my operation here with you." Officer Carnago straightened his back, he wasn't a very tall man, he might very well not even reach John's shoulder, but he still managed to have an imposing psyche. "Please, can we settle this? I don't want my cover to be blown," John said after watching Officer Carnago weighing his options for a bit.

"...Yeah, okay," Officer Carnago said, then looked on his wristwatch. "Have a good night, Agent Cantwell." John was mildly surprised, he didn't think Carnago would have been able to read his name off the badge in the dark. He hadn't given the officer much time to inspect it, anyway.

"Thanks, have a good shift," John said.

* * *

Angry, middle aged men in maroon robes followed Dean through Diagon Alley. They all had their wands drawn and were shooting rainbows of spells towards him. Dean grabbed his Vine wand out of the pocket of his robes, and aimed it at the nearing wizards. He tried to push his feelings in it, begged the wand to help him, but nothing happened. He had hoped that the wand would shoot some crazy mojo to the wizards out of loyalty to its owner, but apparently that was not how wands worked…

Dean started to run again, desperate to get away. A yellow spell hit his arm and he stumbled.

"We got him!" One of the men shouted. Dean caught himself with his hands and got back on his feet, he kept running. He zigzagged passed the customers, in hopes it would slow the wizards and their firing down, but he didn't risk looking back to check it. The shops were nothing more than a racing blur of colours. His eyes felt hot, hell, his whole body felt like it was burning up. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep ahead of them. He took a turn into a narrow alleyway, and, to his delight, he saw the mystic, onyx black gleam of the Impala. It was as if he floated to the car, hope was quickly building up in his chest.

 _WHAM!_

Dean shot up and hit his knee against the dashboard of the Volkswagen Jetta. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He looked to his right, were the sound had come from, and saw his father arguing with another man. He then noticed the yellow liquid against the window at the driver's side. He breathed, his shoulder slumped back a little. _Just another nightmare…_ It hadn't been the first time this month that he had gotten weird dreams. He had several dreams about castles. Wizards and witches were also a recurring theme. Some times they were happy dreams. Then he was in an old castle with Sammy and they would shoot spells at each other, make each other look ridiculous and such. Other times the other students chased him in a frenzy. He'd run until he was taken out by them or reached the Impala. Once he got to the car, his family would attack him on sight, they'd tell him he had become one of the monsters and they had no choice but to end that.

Dean didn't know what to think about Dumbledore just yet, but he sure owed the old man for getting Bobby to teach there. It was a reassuring thought, having someone on his side in a castle full of magic. He suppressed a shiver.

With a loud _thunk_ the man that had peed against their car landed on the hood, effectively breaking Dean's train of thought. Two other men hurried towards the Jetta and retrieved their buddy. Dean watched them scramble away. His father shook his head and got back into the car.

"Those idiots," he mumbled more to himself than to Dean. "Glad you got some rest, son, I think we're close to get some action." Dean just nodded, his father wasn't exactly the figure to tell about his bad dreams. Dean went back to drawing, and they waited in silence for something to happen.

After an hour or so, his dad impatiently ticked on the clock on the dashboard.

"It's passed five 'o clock! In less than an hour it's sunrise!" John said, frustrated. _I couldn't have been wrong about the location, now could I?_ He asked himself. He had been so sure.

"Rudy said that vampires like to go out during the night instead of all being stuck at their nest. It's summer, so the nights are short and they're probably taking as much time as they can," Dean reasoned. John cranked an eyebrow up.

"Who's Rudy?"

"A friend of Pastor Jim." Dean shrugged, he didn't know much about him either. Rudy had only come to the Church once when he and Sam were staying there. Sam didn't know about the Supernatural yet, so Dean didn't get much time to meet the young hunter.

"Hmm," was all John said. "Seems like we got company." He nods towards two people walking on the other side of the road. John didn't know why he was so certain that these two were the ones they had been waiting for, but he had never been one to question his gut feeling. Dean took a shift glance at the couple, a tall man blond hair combed back in gel, he was wearing dark jeans and a black leather motorcycle jacket, and a woman with short, light brown, curly hair in wide, ripped jeans, a tight, black tee that showed her stomach, and a dark red and green, oversized plaid blouse.

Dean carefully got two machetes from under the passenger seat and handed his dad one of them. Dean was glad they were sheathed in their leather cases as he and John hid the blades in their sleeves. John counted off on his fingers and they got out of the car simultaneously. They stayed on their side of the road, nonchalantly following the couple. They giggled and talked, and Dean had to strain his ears to pick up what was being said.

"Mhm, you're stron' alwite, and I can't believe you're gunna open your own pub!" the girl said, leaning in closer to the guy. Dean wasn't so sure if he even wanted to listen.

"Itsa big dream o' mine, yeah," the boy admitted, stroking the girl's' arm gently. They stopped and the girl giggled.

"On numbr sixtee-nine, hey?" she asked, giggling even more.

"Dus dat bring you on ideas?" he asked in a husky whisper. _Yep, regrets were made._ Dean thinks to himself. The couple proceeded to get into the building and John crossed the road with his son in tow.

"Going in this way would be a fool's errand…" John murmured. He scaled the building up. The ground level was in decorated by dark wood and there were no windows to look through. The upper levels were of the most red brickstones he had seen in a long time. It had a small tower with a clock on it at the left side. He noticed an open window on the first floor. The ground level stuck out further than the upper levels, which brought John on some ideas.

John walked to the left side of the building, where an iron fence was attached to it, and climbed up on the fence after a quick scan of the area. He helped himself balance on it by grabbing the wall of the building. Once he stood fully, he felt around the edge, it was slanted so there wasn't much to get a grip on, unless he'd manage to reach the low, decorative fence on top of it.

"Here, dad," Dean said, holding up a short piece of rope with a stone tied to it at one end. John smiled.

"Thanks," he said. He threw the end with the stone over the small fence and stretched to grab it. He putted some of his weight in the ropes, and then climbed up on the wall. He took a quick glance through the windows, but the coast seemed clear. Dean was struggling to get his feet between the iron bars to climb up on the fence, but he got on top quickly enough. John reached for him and Dean had to jump up a little to grab his father's hand. John pulled him up, glad it was the weight of a kid and not an adult. They got their machetes ready and entered into the dark hole that was the window.

They stood completely still, allowing their eyes to get used to the darkness inside. It was a narrow hallway, a dark, dusty green carpet was getting loose from the floor. The brown wallpaper with flowers was torn and withered and the place had these moldy, and festering scents about it. Laughter rose from the ground floor, at least six people by the sound of it. John pointed to the first door on their left and Dean nodded. They'd try to clear out the upstairs as silently as they could before dealing with the vampires downstairs.

Crouched, and aware of their own quickened heartbeats, they inched closer to the door. John glanced from the corner of his eyes to Dean, who gave an almost unnoticeable nod, and John opened the door. It moved inwards, creaking softly, but to their ears it was deafening. A dirty, a la seventies green tiled bathroom got revealed. They stealthily got to the next door, this one on the right side. They gave it a quick look-over and noticed the hinges on their side. Dean slowly opened the door. The room had the same green, rundown carpet as the hallway, and featured blue wallpapers with purple and orange butterflies. There were several mattresses on the ground covered in undergarments and syringes. They didn't go in.

There were two other, smaller bedrooms that both turned out to be empty as well, so they went to the second story. There was another bathroom, this time with yellow tiles, a master bedroom, and another room with two people chained up to the radiator. John and Dean inched closer, careful not to make a sound, and John squatted in front of the man Dean recognized as the missing twenty-one year old guy. John pushed his lips apart and against the upper gums, causing the fangs to appear. He let go and ended the guy's life with a single swing. The head came off clean and covered the woman and John in blood splatters. She opened her eyes wide, her dry, hoarse voice screeching soft. John grabbed her by the chin and checked for fangs. He found none.

"Did you drink their blood?" Dean whispered to the woman. He was met with her hollowed out, scared to death grey eyes. Reluctantly, she shook her head. "We're going to get you out of here, is it correct that there are six of them?" Dean asked. The woman shook her head again, and looked down at her chained wrists. Dean followed her gaze, she stretched her fingers out to count eight. "Eight?" Dean asked, somewhat amazed. The woman nodded and Dean smiled. "Thank you." And with that John hit her with the butt of the machete and knocked her out.

"It'll be over soon," was all he said. There was only one more level to go before they'd have to face the ones downstairs. As quietly as the squeaky, wooden stairs allowed, they got into the tower, just beneath the levels of the clock on the outside. The room was laid out as an office and there was a man sitting with his back towards them, drinking something out of a big plastic cup through a straw.

John signaled for Dean to get a move on, and Dean obediently took a step into the office. He tried to move as fast as he dared towards the vampire, who was still drinking from his cup. He was getting close, just three more steps and he'd be in reach to behead the creature. The drinking stopped, a loud, content _aaah_ followed. Dean was frozen in place. The vampire tilted his head to each side, audibly cracking his neck, then placed the empty cup on the desk in front of him. John was gritting his teeth, the kid had to hurry.

Dean took one big step forward and swung the machete. It went through the unsuspecting vampire like a hot knife through butter. A clean cut, no resistance. John let out a heavy sigh.

"You alright, son?" he asked. Dean slowly turned around, the machete once again raised in hand.

"Yeah, let's g-get his buddies and get outta here," Dean said in the lowest whisper he'd permit himself, however it failed to completely conceal the trembling in his voice. John smirked.

"Atta boy." Dean gave a weak smile at the praise. "Is there anything noteworthy on the desk?" John asked. Dean turned and gazed over the now bloody papers.

"No, just some local maps," Dean answered. He squatted down to check the vamp's pockets, but aside from a few receipts, they were empty.

"Check the drawers," his father said as he checked the bookshelves and archives at the wall near the stairs.

"What are we looking for?" Dean asked over his shoulder after he found nothing but a dead cockroach in the drawers, which was almost noteworthy of itself.

A loud " _Crack!"_ sounded. Dean jumped back, hitting his hip against the corner of the desk. His machete clattered on the floor. He grimaced. Grunts and the ripping sound of fabric forced Dean to look up. His father lied on his back, pounding in the side of another damn fang. The vampire didn't seem to pay much attention to the ongoing assault, he was only focused on John's neck. Dean's eyes widened. Not daring to look away, he felt around for his machete. Cold sweat formed above his brow. His fingers connected to the polished wood of the handle and gripped it firmly. He pushed himself forward as fast as his young legs would carry him, readying himself to slash. The vampire ducked. Dean's pupils flared. A rough hand grabbed his upper arm, nails boring itself into the flesh. As a ragdoll Dean flew through the room. He hit the wall with his back, smacking the air out of his little frame. The vampire chuckled. John took his chances and pushed the vampire off him. He grabbed his arms and twirled them to his back.

"Dean, now!" He shouted. With a groan, Dean pushed himself off the floor. He leapt, his body protested, he fell. The machete slid away over the floor, and the vampire snickered. John gave him a headbutt and let go of the vampire's arms. He fell to his side and grabbed Dean's machete. He threw it with a vicious spin. It got half through the vampire's neck. John got up and pushed through the rest of the neck as he looked into the dark brown, still somewhat amused eyes of the vampire. He turned to look at his son.

"I'm sorry," Dean said immediately. John walked over and kneeled next to him.

"Are you injured?" He asked. Dean tapped over his body, he was pretty beat up. He cringed when his hip felt wet. John took the liberty to examine it. The area was already discoloured in purple and yellow, and in the middle the flesh was somewhat tattered despite the blood clinging to it. John reasoned it looked worse than it was. The wound itself wasn't so deep, it just bled a little excessively due to all the sudden movements. John grabbed one of the strips of his blouse and tore it off. He hesitated, wondering if he should pour some whiskey over it, but decided against it. The bleeding probably cleaned the wound decently enough anyway. Instead, he tied the wound up and offered his son a hand to get back on his feet. John handed Dean his machete and picked up his own, then signaled for Dean to follow him.

They got downstairs, it was completely quiet and dark. Dean squinted, but he barely could make anything out. He'd loved to have night vision right about now. They stuck to the walls, each to the other side, until they met each other again at the other end. No other sounds had been heard, which made them believe the sun had risen and the vamps were sleeping. John decided it'd be riskier to continue on like this, and switched on the lights. The TL lights buzzed softly as they flickered on, illuminating the space. The grunge girl lied on her stomach about three feet away from them, dead.

Not much farther, they found two vamps curled up against each other in a hammock. John slashed without a second thought. The blade got stuck just over the half of the second vampire and John had to force his way through. The cut was half smooth, half frayed. John's eyebrows furrowed, he thought the blade was better than that. Fortunately, none of the vampires had woken up when the light turned on, and they made quick work of them.

They went back upstairs, to the only surviving victim. John had found the key on one of the vampires, and removed the shackles. After some poking, she woke up and Dean offered her a cup of water. She accepted it gratefully. John gave her the rundown of what happened, and she took it better than Dean had expected. The girl offered to make up a story to explain what happened, but John decided against it. He recalled the United Kingdom being pretty big on their autopsies, and didn't wanna risk the exposure.

A lot of dragging, sweating, and the awful scent of burning flesh and hair later, they left in the Jetta. It wasn't long after when the girl stumbled outside, screaming. A simple traffic cop that had been writing fines, hurried towards her, and the smoldering heap was found. It was near impossible to ID the two victims, but with that and the testimony of the only survivor, the police finally got a move on with this case.

* * *

Dean fell on his bed, his face buried itself into the pillow. He was absolutely wrecked. The needs to shower and sleep battled for importance, but neither won.

"Dean! Bobby got us breakfast!" Sam shouted, oblivious to his older brother's current state.

"Mhm, that's great," Dean mumbled into his pillow. He attempted to get up, but his body didn't comply.

"And Dumbledore sent an owl, saying he found a place for Bobby and me to stay." The way Sam said it caused Dean to open his eyes.

"That's good, right?" he asked, not sure why Sammy sounded not more enthusiastic. Sam nodded, but Dean wasn't buying it. "Sup?" Sam's cheeks turned pink.

"I wish we could've done this sooner," Sam admitted, his voice small. "It would've been better if your school didn't want you to sleep there, but at least we won't be going from one town to another all the time," Sam elaborated, his eyes fixed on the floor. Dean felt a twinge in his chest. He didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately for him, the silence didn't stretch long.

"Dean, Sam! Food. Now!" Bobby's gruff voice shouted. Not giving it much thought, Dean turned around and swayed his legs off the bed. He and Sam joined Bobby and their father at the kitchen table.

"How's that hip of yours?" John asked.

"It's alright." Dean dragged a plastic box with " _DW"_ scrabbled on it towards him. He liked the English breakfast, it was fat, had meat a-plenty, and was steamingly hot. The first bites were eaten in silence, but it wasn't long before plans were being made.

"I want you two to clean up and then we can hit the road," Bobby stated, pointing his fork to John and Dean. "I took a look on the map, it's going to be over a five-hundred and seventy mile journey to Dufftown," he grumbled, definitely not looking forward to it. Dean swallowed a big clump of eggs and asked:

"What's in Dufftown?"

"Dumbledore got me and Sammy a place in the village," Bobby explained simply. "Now if yer done stuffing yerself, you can go an' shower." Dean got up and threw his box in the wastebin. A shower sounded great.

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for the reviews! They made me really happy!**

 _ **Pssht! Jaden Xiang, I'm glad you find it so engaging and that you love the story so much! I hope this chapter meets your expectations. :)**_

 **All the mentioned places/pubs are real but have nothing to do with actual cases as far as I am aware. I merely used the spots to write this fanfic. (The hospital I referred to is the Queen Elizabeth Hospital.)**

 **The Murder Clinic is a movie from 1966 where the staff and patients of an asylum get killed by some hooded maniac. Fun times indeed.**

 **MI6 is the Secret Intelligent Service in the UK, they actually publicly announced their existence in… Was it 1994? I think so, but don't quote me on that.**

 **Rudy was introduced to the audience somewhere in season 10, but Sam and Dean already knew him. Pastor Jim Murphy was a friend of the family and appeared in season 1.**

 **Gotta love that 90s grunge and dem 80s greaser fashion (remember that kid from Indiana Jones? Mutt Williams?), lol. The Greasers vs Jocks bar fight is my fave moment. :D**

 **I imagined the building the vamps used is the strip club Ye Olde Axe that opened in 1993, but I'm not sure if it was abandoned in 1990 or if something else was located there. I have no idea about the actual layout, so I just did whatever I wanted, lol.**

 **Dufftown was mentioned in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Sirius Black was sighted there, and Hermione responded with** " _ **Dufftown? That's not far from here!"**_ **so I figured I'd use it. :)**


	4. The NeverEnding Journey Part 1

**Chapter 4: The NeverEnding Journey Part 1**

* * *

The purring of the engine and the soft shocks of the fast wheels on old asphalt were reassuring to Dean as he woke up somewhat disoriented. It didn't take long before the memories of last night and this morning came rushing back to him. He failed to suppress a yawn and stretched his tired limbs in the cream leathered seat, pulling himself loose from the back. Leather, humidity, and sweat were not a great combination. He looked out of the window to see if there were any signs that'd give him an idea of where they were, but the only useful clues he had were the rows of birch trees that lined the road. The blazing orange orb in the sky burned in his side mirror behind the dark blue Jetta that followed them. Dean smiled at the sight of the car. He had been glad that the trunks and backseats were completely packed with their luggage and he and Sam had had to travel separately.

"Where are we?" Dean asked, glancing over at Bobby.

"I dunno, I think it said it was some national park on the map." Bobby shrugged. "It's close to Dufftown though." Dean nodded slightly and watched the reflection of the darkening blue sky filled with cotton plucks on the wide, white-striped hood of the moss green Chevelle. They traveled in a comfortable silence.

The forests flittered out of view and got replaced by hills of luscious grass. It wasn't long until Dean got bored and pulled his backpack between his feet closer towards himself. He dug around, mumbling something about magic books needing an enchantment to be lighter, and then held up his trusty Walkman in triumph.

Bobby shook his head lightly at the boys' antics. The smirk that had plastered itself on Bobby´s face quickly disappeared when his front wheel hit something. His side of the car bumped up, the shock absorber squeaking in protest as it landed back on the road. Or, at least, he damn well hoped it was the shock absorber. He didn't even notice how his foot hit the brakes, nor how his muscles tensed and his knuckles whitened. His only focus was to get the Chevelle to the emergency line. The steering wheel blocked. He vaguely heard Dean yelp. His eyes didn't even have enough time to widen before a loud clang sounded. With a bang the white airbag flew out of the steering wheel. It hit his chest and face hard, and he could feel the air leave his lungs under the impact. He gasped for air, the burned, chemical scent on the nylon material boring itself into his nostrils. The dashboard was covered in smoke, and he could hear Dean take sharp breaths. Besides that, it was awfully quiet, almost piercing. He only now took in the hammering of his own heart against his ribcage.

Bobby groaned and pushed his door open. He rolled out of his seat, thankfully supporting his weight against the car. His hand flew up to massage his closed eyes against his throbbing, nauseating head. He felt absolutely miserable, even more so than when they got out of Gringotts, and he honestly hadn't thought that was possible. He heard footsteps coming towards him and he decided that he rather upset his stomach some more than stay blind any longer. He squinted through his eyes and saw John coming towards him. Rough hands grabbed fists full of Bobby's shirt and shoved him hard against the car.

"Damnit Singer, what the hell were you thinking?!"

Bobby shoved him. "Get your paws off of me, Winchester!" He growled, positively seething under his worn trucker cap. Both men were too engaged in their glaring to notice Dean walking over to the Jetta and sliding into the abandoned driver´s seat. He poured out a soft string of curses when he felt a third pedal. Just his bloody luck.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked in a small voice. Dean didn't answer, his attention focused on cracking up his chair until he could look over the steering wheel. Then he glanced over to his brother.

"You know how to read that map?" he inquired, nodding his head towards the map on the dashboard. He watched in mild amusement as Sam's eyebrows furrowed closer together.

"Of course I know how to read it!" he replied, scoffing. Dean shook his head, smiling knowingly. "Are you… going to drive us?" Sam hesitantly asked. The younger brother didn't know how to feel about that. Their father had taught Dean how to drive last Summer, but his brother only ever drove the Impala and their father had always been in the vehicle with them. Dean gave him a lopsided grin and winked.

"All you need is a plan, the roadmap, and the courage to press on to your destination, Sammy," he said solemnly. Sam was pretty sure another reference had flown right over his head, but he didn't care. His concerns had vanished and he was excited to get a move on. He grabbed the card, unfolding it so that Dean wouldn't be able to see it. He thanked Bobby silently for drawing out the route with a red marker, not that he'd ever admit to Dean that reading maps wasn't something he was very good at. Not yet, anyway.

"We just need to follow the A95 until we come to an intersection with the A941," Sam informs him helpfully. Dean grunted his acknowledgement and focused on the car, doing his best to recall everything he knew about manuals. He kicked in the clutch a few times, forcing his left foot to adapt to the movement. A quick glance outside informed him that his father and Bobby got in a physical fight. He let out a heavy breath, kept the clutch to the ground, and turned the key in the ignition. It spluttered alive before evening out. Dean pushed the soft ache for the Impala away, hardly even acknowledging it over his quickening heartbeat. He looked over towards the two adults again, but to his surprise neither had noticed the car starting. " _I don't care that you got in a fight, Dean! I care that you were so unaware of your surroundings that you didn't notice the teacher coming!"_ The heated voice of his father echoed through his mind. Dean glared hard at his father, he wasn't sure whether to be annoyed with him or glad it would be so easy.

"Dean, are we going now?" Sam pressed urgently. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, let's go," he agreed. He let the clutch come up as slowly as he could manage until the car started to roll forward. Grinning, he added a heavy dose of gas, greatly accelerating, the rear wheels slipped until they got traction. He watched in the rearview mirror how his father and Bobby scrambled to their feet and waved with both their arms to get them back, but Dean decided against it. He knew this was gonna get him in lots of trouble, and he didn't feel like handling that just yet. He glanced at the dashboard, seeing how close he was to the red lining already, and looked at the clutch. He vaguely recalled reading in a book at Bobby's that you could skip gears while shifting, and figured he'd try that. His left leg hesitantly kicked in the clutch and his left hand struggled with the poke. _Damnit those things were annoying!_ He managed to jam it into the three and allowed his foot to slowly let go of the pedal then placed it on the ground.

"Um, Dean?" Sam asked after a few miles.

"Yes, Sammy?"

"Aren't you going a bit slow?"

"I have honestly no idea what the speed limit is and I don't want to draw too much attention to us," Dean admitted, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. Truth be told, if a car like this is driven like an old grandma, it'd also draw attention, but at least it was the safest of both options.

"Isn't this an open road?" Sam asked, frowning as much as his young forehead could muster. "What's the maximum speed limit?" Dean shrugged.

"I don't know, you're the geek," he said, giving his brother a light push.

"Yeah, and you're driving," Sam jabbed right back. "What'd you think would be the speed limit if this was the States?" Sam asked, once again serious. Dean gave him another shrug.

"Maybe fifty-five?" Sam nodded at his answer.

"Yeah, sounds good," he agreed. With a heavy sigh, Dean went on to shift to the fourth and then the fifth gear, thankful they'd have a long way to go before he'd have to do another awkward attempt at that. "Is it difficult?" Sam asked curiously once his brother got more comfortable.

"What?" He looked over to Sam to see he had turned towards him, his legs slowly kicking back and forth under the dashboard.

"Driving this car instead of the Impala," Sam clarified.

"Oh, that." Dean scratched his neck, wondering if his baby brother would be able to follow his explanation on the differences. Sam just didn't have the same knack for car mechanics as he did. Then again, Sam did like information. He slacked back a bit more into the seat and opted to explain it, growing more enthusiastic the more his brother asked and absorbed like a sponge.

 _Meanwhile, back at the scene of the crash..._

"God damnit, what the hell is that kid thinking?!" John growled, resisting the urge to punch something. Bobby glowered at him for a full minute. "What's your deal, Medusa?"

"Shaddup princess, and help me dig out the spare tire," Bobby grunted, opening the trunk. He sighed and shoved the cap over his eyes, scratching his head in wonder. _How the hell did they ever fit all that in there?_

* * *

"Shit," Dean murmured when the engine stalled at yet another intersection. Sam turned towards him, his eyes sparkling with glee.

"You're truly a terrible driver, Dean," he said matter of factly, then burst out in giggles. Dean looked down and shook his head.

"Shut up, bitch,"

"Don't be a jerk, Dean." Came the instant reply. Dean scoffed, but the edges of his lips betrayed him with a smile. "I think that's Dufftown," Sam said, pointing out of his window towards a town in the distance. A high, squared tower stood proud in the middle of it.

"Looks like it. You think you can navigate us to the house?" Dean asked, still looking at the village. Sam bowed over the map, trying to make sense of the web of roads that made up the town.

"I think so," Sam said after a while.

"If not, we just park the car and see if there's an arcade or something," Dean said, shrugging carelessly. "Although they might only have a grocery store and another one of those damned pubs," he added, not too pleased with that prospect.

"It does look really small," Sam agreed.

"Yeah, dad said that Dumbledore found you a school within Dufftown, right?" Dean asked, suddenly not too sure that this place would make a good home for Bobby and Sammy.

"Yes, that's what they told me, too," Sam paused, hesitating. Dean kept silent, waiting for his brother to start again. "It'll be strange not going to school together," Sam admitted eventually.

It was something that had been bothering him for a while now. As Dean liked to point out, he really was kind of a geek. And it didn't help that they were outsiders on every school they went to, too. Now he'd be the new kid from a far away country. He had been trying to sound more like an English kid, but it was difficult and very slow-going. Of course Sam knew how to protect himself, but their father always warned them not to show off how skilled in fighting they were. Not that Sam wanted to fight anyone, he hated getting hurt and he hated hurting others. Besides, he just wanted to seem normal, and the other kids couldn't fight like that, he knew that all too well. Their techniques were very sloppy. So he allowed the bullies to do their worst, which wasn't much since they quickly learned that Sam had a big brother. It was like a universal code, you watch your steps around the kids with older brothers.

"Yeah, I'm gonna miss looking out for my pain in the ass little brother," Dean agreed, nodding fondly. Sam made a face. "But you don't have to worry, who knows, in a village like that," Dean nodded towards the town with the tower, "a kid from America coming to their primary school would be the most exciting thing ever. Hell, they probably all wanna be friends," Dean snorted at the idea.

"You really think so?" Sam asked. He hadn't thought about it like that before.

"I know so. Now quit your worrying, Samantha," Dean teased, rolling his eyes at his little brother. Sam punched him in the shoulder.

"Jerk!" He folded his arms in front of his chest, but couldn't fight the smile creeping up on his face. _Yeah, definitely worth the bruising._ Dean thought to himself. They drove on towards the town in a comfortable silence.

The sun was finally out of view when the road got flanked by the occasional farms and even a camping. Neither brother knew why anyone would go camping in such a remote location and then bother to get close to a town, but it was a promising sign nonetheless. It meant that there had to be something entertaining in the area after all. The farms turned into nice, detached houses, and they even passed a distillery.

"I bet Bobby would love that," Dean said, nodding towards the sign on the warehouse.

"Yes, it says here on the map Dufftown is known for it's great whiskey," Sam provided helpfully. They got to the town, the street was crowded on either side by parked vehicles, and though in the late hour of the twilight, they were quiet, Dean felt rather exposed. _What if someone saw him driving?_ Buildings, no taller than one or two stories, cascaded down the hill like a waterfall of houses, each with greyed roofs and light coloured sides. Off in the distance, they could see the rolling hills of Scotland flow seamlessly back into endless grass on one end, and a thick pine forest standing on the other. They drove right to the squared tower in the heart of the town, passing several signs of hotels and restaurants along the way.

"Where to, Columbus?" Dean asked, still very much on edge. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I don't think Columbus was such a great navigator," Sam noted. At Dean's incredulous look, he continued. "After all, he thought he had found India when he got to America," Sam explained, grinning smugly.

"Hell, you must miss school," Dean said, shaking his head. "Now get us to the house, you smartass." Taking that as his victory, Sam resigned himself to read the map.

Sam was pretty sure he got them lost. He couldn't find the street they were on anywhere on the map, and he had absolutely no idea where they were in relation to the town. He pursed his lips together. He wasn't sure if it was possible for Dean to feel more disappointed than he felt himself, but he didn't really wanna find out.

"Hold on, what was the name of the street again?" Dean asked suddenly, stopping Sam's train of thought.

"The sign said we were on Chester Road," Sam answered easily.

"No, the road the house is at, that's Victoria Street, right?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. Dean grabbed a hold of Sam's head and forced him to look out of his window.

"Well there it is!" He said, making sure Sam was looking at the small street that made up the border of the town before a young forest took over. Sam's eyes widened in recognition, they found it! "Number twelve, right?" Dean asked, turning the car into the street as he did so. Sam swallowed.

"Yeah, number twelve," he confirmed. They drove down Victoria Street, the first couple houses were attached, much like the ones on most of the streets they had driven through, and then it made place for detached houses, each one a few feet further from the last one until they reached number twelve at the end of the road. There was a backyard from another house a bit to the side across from them, but otherwise it was located rather remotely.

The house was made of the same boring grey stone that seemed to be the theme in this country. It had a dark slated roof with two dormers on top of it, almost giving the house a face. The driveway led to a decent sized, single garage attached to the right side. Dean wasn't so sure what they'd do with it. Bobby always led his Chevelle stand outside on the scrapyard with the other cars, and he highly doubted having an accessible garage would change that.

They watched the house for a bit but the only movement came from the lush grass of the front yard that waved to them invitingly. Someone had gone out of their way to plant several blue hydrangeas and a big beech tree gave off a sense of privacy.

"Huh, it looks pretty normal," Dean said, being the first to break the silence. "Maybe Dumbledoors isn't that weird after all." He considered this for a moment then shook his head. "What am I saying? That man is the definition of weird!" Sam snorted, but he hadn't expected to find something so ordinary either.

"You're sure this is it?" he asked, watching the house with a hawkeye in case some wizard decided to funk it up.

"Positive, unless you gave me the wrong address," Dean answered. He turned the car onto the driveway and let out a sigh of relief when he shut off the engine. Driving had been fun, but next time he wanted an automatic.

They got out of the car, taking a minute to stretch their legs and lazily glancing over the property, both glad Bobby and their father were nowhere to be seen yet.

"Do you have a key?" Sam asked after awhile.

"I got something better," Dean said, proudly holding up his lock pick. Sam's eyebrows rose to his hairline at the sight of the tool.

"Seriously? You're gonna break into our own house?" he asked, folding his arms in front of him. Dean rolled his eyes and stalked over to the front door that was placed in the middle of the building, and knelt at the keyhole. Sam sighed and joined him. He knew it was silly to break into the place, but he badly wanted to explore it, too.

"Aha!" Dean said in soft triumph, pushing the door open. It creaked a little, but nothing a few drops of oil couldn't fix. They stepped inside the dark hall, both feeling around for a light switch. Sam found it first, and with a click the lights flickered on. The hall was surprisingly wide with a dark tiled floor. The walls started with blue-grey panels and a flowery print in cream shades covered up the rest. Sam wrinkled up his nose.

"What is it with all the flower prints?" He asked quietly. His brother shrugged and carefully made it to the door on the right.

"You're in luck, Sam," he said "your favourite room doesn't seem to have much flowers."

"How would you know what my favourite room will be?" Sam scoffed. He wasn't going to get excited and risk becoming victim of Dean's jokes again. Dean sighed.

"Oh, I don't know, a study that rivals Bobby sure seems like a good giveaway," he said, walking into the place. Every piece of available wall has ceiling high bookcases against them. There was an old stone fireplace with two beige armchairs at the left side of the room, and a big desk with a view into the front yard at the right side. Dean circled around. Most of the bookcases were empty, which wouldn't last long once Bobby arrived. He walked over to the only one that had books, smiling when his brother finally joined him and let out a soft " _wow". Sammy is such a Geek,_ Dean thought to himself. He read the titles of the few books present in the light that came from the hall. Most of them were basic encyclopedias about animals and plants that could be found in Scotland. There were a few informative books on Dufftown and the surrounding area. There was also a Gaelic to English and an English to Gaelic dictionary and a book on Celtic Myths present.

"What do you have there?" Sam asked curiously.

"Just some books, nothing interesting though," Dean frowned "I wonder who put them here…" Sam came to stand next to him, glancing over the spines of the books like Dean had done.

"Maybe Dumbledore got them for us? Or the previous owners left them," Sam suggested. Dean nodded and turned around.

"Let's see what else is there, alright?" He said over his shoulder. Sam nodded and followed Dean to the room straight across from the study. The flower prints were merciless. From the walls to the couch and chairs, it looked as if an army of grandmothers had stormed the place. Not even the rug had been spared from the mess of loud flowers. "We desperately need to find an Ikea tomorrow," Dean murmured. Sam couldn't agree more.

The sitting room was bigger than the study, but not by much. It had a big fireplace, a decent sized TV, some more bookcases, and a saloon table that thankfully hid the biggest part of the rug. The brothers didn't feel like staying long and quickly went back to the hall. They made their way to the door opposite of the front door and noticed the hall continued on the right side. A wooden staircase led up to the second floor, a closet fitted underneath it, and to the back was another door. Dean decided to go through that one first, certain it would lead to the garage. He opened the door and was met with brown tiles everywhere. The room was tiny and held a small, brown porcelain toilet and sink. Sam looked past him.

"Huh, that's useful," he said, unfazed by the hideous colour scheme. "Why's there another door?" Dean looked to his left, he hadn't even noticed the odd sliding door. He slid it open only to be met with more brown tiles and another door. There was a laundry basket to his right and a shower on the left.

"Huh, I wonder why the rooms got separated," he mused. Sam stayed quiet for once, so he opened the next door and found an utility room with two more doors. There was a big washing machine and plenty of cabinets and shelves Dean walked in, thankful for the simple white walls. Sam followed, closing the door to the shower room behind him. Dean opened the door closest to him and finally stepped into the garage.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be," Sam noted, closely following his brother. Dean nodded his agreement. There was plenty of room to work on a car, even a long car like the Chevelle. Hell, two cars like the Jetta could have easily fitted in the garage together. Right now the space was empty though. There weren't even any shelves or cabinets. "Are you going to move the car into the garage?" Sam asked. Dean shook his head.

"No, let's leave it outside as a sign for dad and Bobby," he answered, turning on his heels. They went back into the utility room and opened the other door, stepping in a very sunny kitchen. The walls were unbelievably yellow between the pine wood cabinets. The kitchen was large, the largest room so far, and a huge dining table stood at the other side of the room. There were two pairs of French doors that opened to the backyard. Dean started opening more doors, quickly finding pots and pans, plates, mugs and glasses, and everything else you'll need in a kitchen, aside from actual food.

"At least Ikea serves breakfast," Sam joked after finding the fridge empty, too. "Are we going to explore the upstairs?" He asked hopeful.

"Yeah, let's see how the rooms are divided," Dean agreed, opening the door that was directly attached to the hallway.

Dean couldn't help but walk on the side of the stairs attached to the wall, minimising the treacherous creaks of the wooden steps as much as possible. The landing was much like the hall, with a dark wooden floor that matched the staircase and it's creamy flowery wallpaper. There were five doors, two towards the front of the house, two towards the back, and one on a diagonally placed wall at the end of the landing. There was a big window at the start of the stairs that could be opened. It looked out over the low, dark slated roof of the garage and the young forest that surrounded the property on the right side and along the back. They opened the first door to reveal another brown themed bathroom. It had a counter with two big sinks, a toilet, and a bath-and-shower combo. It had a big window, like the landing had, above the toilet that offered much the same view over the garage roof. A thin, green and yellow curtain ensured some privacy.

"At least we don't have to go downstairs to shower," Dean grumbled. He hadn't been looking forward to that. He had been unfortunate enough to run into Bobby when the old man had just finished up in the bathroom and had stepped out in nothing more than a towel on the hips. The chance of that happening when the journey to the bedroom would've been longer had been worrisome. Dean shuddered, forcing the memory and the thoughts away.

"And someone can go to the toilet when someone else is showering," Sam added, recalling having to pee in the scrapyard a few times. Dean chuckled at that.

"Yeah, that too." He closed the door and they moved on to the next room. Dean's mouth fell open at the sight of the white crib. Sam squeezed past him into the small room. From what Dean recalled, the room was quite a bit smaller than what Sam's nursery had been. The walls were covered in a wallpaper with green leaves and pink flowers. There was a soft, beige carpet on the floor, and the back of the room ended in a dorm much like the ones they had seen at the front of the house.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Why's there a baby girl's room?" He asked, the uncertainty clear in his voice. Dean suppressed a smile.

"It's called a nursery," Dean provided, gesturing to the room.

"Oh," Sam said. "Why's there a nursery here?"

"I don't know, Samantha, maybe Dumbledoors is so old that he thinks you're still a baby," Dean answered, a cheeky smile easily taking over his face.

"Jerk," Sam spit, pushing past his brother. Dean chuckled and followed Sam to the diagonal wall and door. They were met with a huge iron wrought bed standing on the same beige carpet they had seen in the nursery. Walking in, they noticed that the wall towards the nursery was covered in a massive, built-in closet, and there was a comfortable seat created in the dormer.

"I think we found the master bedroom," Dean said, examining the tiny brown birds and blue flowers on the wallpaper.

"Is this going to be Bobby's room?" Sam asked curiously, forgetting he was mad at Dean.

"Yeah, I think so." He snorted once he saw the big mirror standing in a corner. Bobby would love that, he was sure. They left the room as it was and got into the next one. Green leaves met them on the wallpaper, but this time without flowers. There was another built-in closet to their left, half the size of the one in the master bedroom, another dormer, a bookshelf that contained more toys than books, a beanbag, two single beds, and a whole lot of other toys scattered around.

"I've never seen so much toys outside of a toy store," Sam said, somewhat in awe. Dean bit his lip as he felt his heart sink a little at that.

"Well you better get used to it then, I don't think there's much place to hide them in," he replied easily, already leaving to explore the last room. The door was right next to the fence around the staircase and Dean paused for a moment to listen, but it was completely silent downstairs. He entered the room, equal in size as the previous one, and was met with a light blue wallpaper, decorated with darker blue flowers. There was a nice, queen sized bed in front of the window that looked over the garage, a desk fitted into the dormer, a built-in closet against the wall to the room he just left, and a bookshelf made with loose planks and empty, blue crates. He walked in further, noticing how the bed was placed on wheels. He kicked them off the brakes and pushed it out the way.

Looking down out of the window, he smiled. The previous user probably sneaked out via his window all the time. Dean could see the rain pipe and the containers in front of the garage, making it easy to get down, or up for that matter. He quickly realized this was the room with the weakest security detail. This would be his room. He could hear anyone coming up or down the stairs, and if someone broke in via the window, he'd be right there. He turned around to face Sam, but his brother wasn't there. Confused and a bit worried, Dean went back to the other room to find his little brother holding up a pirate costume. Suppressing a snicker, he plopped down on one of the beds.

"Seems like this is going to be your room," Dean drawled lazily. Sam hastily turned around, hiding the costume behind his back. Dean smiled weakly at his brother's antics. "I'm taking the other room, so this one's yours," he explained as if he hadn't noticed anything.

"Oh, so you don't wanna share a room?" Sam asked. He wasn't too sure how to feel about that. There were two beds in here, so why'd Dean take the other room? Sam always liked the idea of having his own space, but now that he had the chance, he wasn't so sure it that was what he wanted.

"No, between all the toys here and all the crap that magic school made me buy, I think it's best to take a room each. Besides, it's only one wall between them," Dean answered, shrugging it off easily. Sam nodded in understanding and sat down on the other bed.

"We got our own rooms!" He said, his eyes gleaming like they should on Christmas morning.

* * *

 **AN: Bobby Singer had a Chevrolet Chevelle Sport Coupe from 1971 in Antique Green with two big, white stripes on the hood and trunk in** _ **Dream a Little Dream of Me**_ **(S03E10). The same car, but with far more rust, has been seen in several other episodes, too.**

 **I'm like 98% sure it said at some point in canon that Dean learned to drive when he was 10, but I might be terribly wrong…**

 _ **I wonder how many of you reading this actually experienced cars where you had to roll down the windows, lol.**_

 **So the Impala is an automatic, but the VW Jetta from '85 (I went with the GT 4-door version) was only made as a manual. I hadn't realised this at first. I kind of had a reversed situation, I learned in a manual and then went to drive in an automatic, so it was a bit weird to imagine the other way round. I think getting a feel for the clutch would have been so much more tricky than forcing your left foot to not take any part.**

 **For the automatic drivers and the non-drivers, skipping gears while shifting down is common, in fact, if you were taught in a manual and your instructor didn't teach you to do that, you better go ask for a refund as in many situations it's recommended. :P**

 **Skipping gears while shifting up isn't very common, at least not here. Most cars can handle it just fine, but you don't wanna put it in a higher gear too soon, you want to rev it up, and there are cars that are more limited in what is comfortable for them. Feeling your car chugging because you're pushing it too hard isn't pretty (nor comfy) and overall not that good for it, too… So just drive safe and be nice for your vehicle, okay? ^^**

 **I looked up the 50 most common street names in the UK, randomly picked 2, and looked it up to see if they existed in Dufftown. Funnily enough, they don't. No Victoria Street or Chester Road in Dufftown. I didn't feel comfortable using an actual address for this.**

 **I actually made a map of the house and then built it in the Sims 3 so I won't mess up the layout in the future. Maybe I should upload some pictures of it somewhere…?**

 **Ikea first appeared in the USA in 1985 and it was a grand success. There was a lot of hype before the opening, so I'm sure the Winchesters have heard of it before. Funnily enough, Ikea came 2 years later to the UK (1987).**


	5. The NeverEnding Journey Part 2

**Chapter 5: The NeverEnding Journey Part 2**

* * *

"Why the hell did they take off like that?" John grumbled from the passenger's seat. Bobby looked towards him, dried blood clotted in his beard.

"Gee, maybe 'cause we were fighting tooth and nail about the accident!" He snapped. John glared at him with his one good eye, the other one closed by the blue and purple bruising. "Isn't that the Jetta?" Bobby asked, squinting in the dark. John looked ahead of them, and there it was. Parked on a driveway. A glow came past the curtains from the room on the second floor.

Bobby parked the Chevelle behind the Jetta, it was a tight fit, but John wasn't going to complain. They got out of the car and John walked over to the Jetta. Not a scratch was on it, at least. He'd have to figure out later if the car got messed up in any other way, but he didn't think so. He joined Bobby at the front door, waiting for the other man to find the key.

Once inside, John purposefully stalked to the end of the hallway and up the stairs. Bobby was quick on his heels. Never slowing, John made it to the door he presumed led to the room with the lights on. The door swung open, and there were his boys. Sam was on the ground, playing with a toy truck, and Dean was lying on one of the two beds, one earphone of the walkman plugged in and a Spidey comic in hands. John relaxed a little, but he was still very angry.

"What the hell, Dean?" He barked, causing both boys to look at him. Sam promptly let go of his toy and _crawled_ to Dean's bed. Dean closed the comic book, pulled the cable of the earphone, and sat up. Neither said a word. "You can't take off like that! What if something had been waiting for us here?" John went on lecturing, marching into the room. Bobby followed, taking a seat on the other bed. His blue eyes fixed on John. John ignored Bobby and stopped right in front of his kids, looking down on them. "I didn't teach you to be that irresponsible, Dean!"

"Dad…" Sam tried, his voice small before Dean could poke him.

"No Sam! I'm just as angry at you!" Sam's eyes went wide, but he didn't utter another word. _Good,_ John thought. "I'm very disappointed in you boys," he added sternly. "You could've made an accident, got arrested by the police for joy-riding, or even killed! You both know what's out there!" John nearly shouted. He really thought he wouldn't have this kind of issues with his kids since Sam learned the truth last Christmas. He thought they had understood how dangerous it was to go out.

"John, that's quite enough," Bobby interjected, but he didn't listen as he raged on with his lecture, going over everything that could have happened with this show of irresponsibility. "John!" Bobby barked, finally causing the man to notice him. "Enough! Stop being a sergeant and be glad the boys are okay!" John's fury was now once again aimed at Bobby.

"They're _my_ kids, Bobby. Stay out of this," John snapped.

"Yes, they're _kids!_ " Bobby retorted. "You need to calm down, they already got the message," he added, looking pointedly to the defeated faces.

"They're easy prey for what's out there! They can't know that enough!" John shouted, storming out of the room. Bobby sighed and followed, closing the door behind him. His nose already hurt like mad, actually getting it broken wasn't on his agenda, but he couldn't let John go like that. Bobby heard the front door get slammed close and hurried down the stairs. He found John sitting in the Jetta, a string of curses audible as the man noticed he couldn't drive away. Only hesitating for a second, Bobby got in the Chevelle and drove off the driveway. John raced past him, never even looking in his direction.

"Asshole," Bobby grunted to himself. He wasn't surprised when he noticed the garage door opening and seeing Dean there. He shrugged, maybe it was better if the Chevelle got inside, at least tonight.

"Where did dad go?" Dean asked, to Bobby's chagrin he sounded very… Detached.

"Probably off to drink somewhere," Bobby grunted, his face scornful. He followed Dean inside the kitchen, finding Sam sitting at the dining table with a glass of water. Bobby made a beeline for the fridge, cursing softly when he found it empty. Settling on a glass of water instead, he joined the boys at the table. "So how's the house?" he asked, listening closely to the description of the rooms.

"Alright, you two take the bedroom with the two singles for tonight, then John can use Dean's room when he gets back. We can turn the nursery in a guest room tomorrow ," Bobby decided. "Now you two need to hurry your asses to bed." Sam and Dean agreed and went to bed without protest. Bobby sighed, downed his glass, and went to explore the house on his own.

* * *

 _John saw it all happen in front of him, but he couldn't do anything. He had seen how Bobby's car shook up the moment he got out of the curve. The wheels of the Chevelle blocked, leaving a black trail on the grey asphalt while the car swerved to the left. Instinct had taken control of his body, aided by adrenaline. His left hand had been firmly placed against Sammy's chest in hopes to keep the kid safe. He had forgotten about the seatbelts. John had jerked the wheel to the right, planning to take the opposite lane to avoid crashing into Bobby's car._

John sighed, chugging down his whiskey in the brown café he had found. He had lost count in the drinks already, but his brain was still tormenting him with unwanted thoughts.

 _John had thought he acted smartly, but the Chevelle tried to escape to the same lane. That fool Bobby, trying to get out of the way even though he should know John would avoid them. He had been a mechanic after all. John had attempted to get the Jetta back on their actual lane, but it was too late. In a painful slow motion he got to witness how he hit the side of the Chevelle's bumper, causing it to go in a spin. He had been surprised when the airbag exploded in his face. He had braked as hard as he could, but it hadn't made a difference. It seemed like an eternity had passed when Sam's whimpers finally reached him._

John gritted his teeth. "Another one, please!" He ordered, the bartender complied easily and John returned to his brooding. He had been pissed at Bobby for endangering Dean and making the mistake to try and avoid the following car. Bobby should've known he hadn't any control over the Chevelle and leave it to John to avoid the Jetta to crash, too. He let the whiskey burn his throat, sighing in content.

" _You're too hard for them, they're just kids!"_ Bobby's voice rang in his ears. He knew that, damnit. He had wanted a better childhood for his own kids, too. He wanted his kids to have both their parents, to grow up without having to worry. But since he learned the truth, he couldn't keep that from his sons. He _needed_ to find the thing that killed Mary, for her, for them, and for himself. Mary had never done anything wrong, let alone Sam, he had just been a baby, and that _thing_ had targeted both of them. But he couldn't possibly wish to track it and every other fugly down _and_ protect his sons at the same time. John shook his head, thinking about that night would only make him angry, and he just wanted to get drunk. He went to take another sip, but found his glass empty. With a grunt he ordered again.

" _You two are leaving again!"_ It hadn't been a question, it had been a desperate cry, yes, but in the first place it had been a statement. Sammy had never taken it so hard when he left on a hunt, but the kid went frantic whenever John took Dean away. The tired hunter tightened the grip on his glass, trying to ignore the pain in his chest that that realisation brought upon. _It was necessary._ He reminded himself. He wasn't about to let his son walk into a school full of powerful wizards and witches without knowing how to defend himself. John felt a bit more at ease after witnessing how well Dean could fight on the hunts. Training was one thing, but actually carrying it out, hell, he had seen plenty of soldiers struggling with that in Vietnam. Dean had been nervous, scared to death even, but he _never_ hesitated in carrying out an order and used what he had learned very well. He trusted his instincts and he trusted his training. John had liked to wait a few more years, sure, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

This time the bartender refilled his glass without him asking and John gave him an appreciative nod.

Yes, he had liked for Dean to have a few more years before he had to kill. His eldest had lost so much childish innocence on such a young age already, he had loved to preserve what little was left as long as possible, as selfish as that may have been. It was a world where it was kill or be killed, John knew that. Even Sam, despite Dean's insistence that they kept him out of the loop, had learned the truth about the monsters when he was just six and a half. Just a little bit over six years since that cursed night.

He downed his shot and paid for his drinks before he left. It was time to go back.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" John asked, heaving the duffelbags into the trunk of the Jetta.

"Yeah, I just don't understand why we need to go all the way back to London," Dean answered.

"Magical tradition or sumthing," Bobby grunted, scratching the back of his neck. "But I agree, why the hell would you go to a magic school by train in the first place?" he added, frowning as he did another attempt at figuring it out.

"Maybe they just like trains?" Sam offered. "I had a teacher once who collected tiny trains," he supplied helpfully.

"I hope it isn't that," Dean retorted. "How come you get to go via the floo network?" he asked Bobby.

"Teacher's privilege. Besides, you don't want to leave your brother all alone here, now do you?" Bobby glanced towards the trunk to see it was once again full with luggage. "It seems like you're all set to go," he pointed out. "I'll see you tomorrow evening, alright Dean?" He said, forcing his doubts down. Dean nodded, hugging the older man around the waist.

"You take care of Sammy," he said. Bobby grunted, but couldn't help a smile.

"I can take care of myself, you know," Sam replied, but tears were welling up in his eyes when it was his time to hug Dean.

"I know that, Sammy. I know that," Dean grumbled, patting his brother on the back. "I'll write you on Sunday."

"P-promise?"

"Yeah." Dean stepped away, just in time to see his father and Bobby shaking hands and wrapping up their last minute conversation. Their father squatted down to Sam's height and hugged his youngest son.

"I'll be back in about two months, around Thanksgiving," he told Sam for the one-hundredth-and-sixty-seventh time. "You call if there's something wrong, alright?"

"Yes, dad, I'll miss you," Sam answered, his voice wavering.

"I'll miss you, too," John admitted, ruffling Sam's hair. He straightened up, looking at Dean. "You ready to go?" Dean nodded and they got in the car together. The engine came to life dutifully, and they drove off, quickly losing sight of Bobby while Sam ran along until the end of the curved street. With a last honk and wave, they communicated their final goodbyes.

Dean slumped back in his seat and allowed the music to soothe him. He glanced over to his father from the corner of his eye. The man seemed deep in thought, his eyes fixed on the road but glassy at the same time. Dean figured that his father was struggling now that the moment was finally there, but he had truly no idea what his father might be thinking, or feeling for that matter. Dean decided to leave the mystery of his father's brain for another time and looked out of the window.

By the time they passed Glasgow, his father spoke.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" Dean sat up straighter, shaking the daze out of his head. He caught his father's eyes glancing over, indicating that Dean wasn't imagining things. Dean hesitated, but decided honesty would probably serve him best.

"I am, it isn't exactly like any other school I've dealt with," he admitted. He hadn't been nervous about new schools since a couple years ago, but this was different and there was no denying that.

"Good," John grunted, causing Dean to snap his head towards his father. John swallowed. "I'm glad you see this differently, it means you'll be vigil," John reasoned. Dean nodded his understanding, and it went quiet for another couple miles.

"I have faith in you, you know," John admitted, not sure what he was doing himself. "You were nervous on the hunts, understandably so, but you always trusted your training. That's good, I think you can handle whatever that school will throw at you." John wanted to slap himself, but refrained from doing so. Dean smiled weakly.

"Thanks, dad." John grumbled something incoherently in response and cracked up the volume.

Hours later, John parked the Jetta outside a motel and glanced over to the passenger seat. Dean's cheek was stuck to the car window, he was snoring softly, something John hadn't noticed over the music. He stepped out of the car, welcoming the cool night air. Stretching his tired limbs, he made way to the service desk. He noticed a young, blond man, his face red by the acne, sitting at the desk. The man hadn't noticed him yet, he was heavily engrossed in a thick book.

"Good evening," John grunted, walking up to the desk. The man jumped, the book slipping out of his fingers and promptly landing on the floor with a loud thump.

"Oh! You startled me!" The man said, smiling nervously. "Erm, I mean, good evening sir. How can I help you?

"I'd like to book a room for the night, two queens," John answered, mildly amused.

"Sure, if you can fill this in for me," The man replied, pushing over a form and pen. John complied, paid cash and left with the key in hand. He got back to the car to find Dean still sound asleep, and he nudged him awake.

"What is it?" Dean asked in less than a whisper.

"We're at the motel," John answered, watching as Dean took in the information and quickly sat up straight. "Come on." They got out of the car and only took out of the trunk what they needed. Their motel room was far from luxurious, but it was one of the cleanest John had seen in a long time. There were two queens, both beds still had to be made. There was a desk, and a tiny TV that John suspected was still in black and white. He let Dean use the bathroom as he salted the place and made the beds.

* * *

Dean woke when he heard an engine start outside. Not bothering to open his eyes, he turned onto his back, hoping sleep would take him once again. But now that he was awake, he couldn't believe he slept through the chirping of the birds and the snoring of his father. With a groan, he swayed his legs over the edge and sat up, letting a hand go over his face. He looked over to the small alarm clock on the night stand in-between their beds and promptly fell back on the bed. It wasn't even seven o'clock yet! He opened his eyes once again to stare at the ceiling. _This was going to be a long day._ He got up, gathered his things, and stealthily made it to the bathroom.

The shower left him feeling more human, but also more hungry. His stomach was roaring in loud demand. He got dressed and slipped out of the batroom. To his dismay, his father was surprisingly enough still asleep. Dean sat down at the desk, debating whether to wake up his dad or go out for food on his own. He decided on the latter and was just tying his shoes when John stirred awake. His father grunted and turned to face the other bed, then stiffened.

"Dean?" he asked.

"I'm here," Dean replied, his dad relaxed.

"You're up early," John stated, forcing himself to sit up to find Dean sitting fully dressed.

"Yeah, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," Dean shrugged with one shoulder as he tied his other shoe. "I'm starving though, can we go out for food soon?"

"Yeah, just give me a moment," John answered, getting up and claiming the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he came out and they left to turn in the key to the elderly woman that now sat at the desk.

It wasn't long before they were on the road again, making their way to King's Cross. The traffic wasn't so bad on the early Saturday morning, but Dean's stomach thought that it had taken more than enough time when they finally parked in front of the train station. They got out of the car, looking up and down the street, and started in the direction to the nearest restaurant. They took a table next to the window and a woman in her late thirties came over, smiling sweetly when both their stomachs roared.

"Good morning gentlemen, can I take your order?" She asked in her thick, British accent.

"We'd like two full English breakfasts, a black coffee and an orange juice," John said, offering the woman a small smile.

"And a pie," Dean added quickly. The woman quirked up an eyebrow, but John nodded.

"Yes, and a pie," he agreed gravely.

"What kind of pie would you like? Apple or cherry?" She watched in amusement as they glanced at each other and then replied with " _cherry"_ simultaneously. "Coming right up," she promised before leaving father and son alone. John looked up at the clock on their left and slacked back in their seat. They had almost two hours to kill until Dean needed to be at the train station.

The woman returned with their drinks and promised the food would only take a few more minutes. John gratefully sipped his coffee, glad to get something in his system as he watched Dean down the juice in two goes.

"We got time, you know," he informed his son, smiling weakly at his cup. Dean shot him a glare but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to follow the waitress with his eyes. John sighed and finished his coffee. It wasn't long until she came back once again, two large, steaming plates in both hands.

"There you go," she said, placing it in front of Dean. "And for you," she added, smiling kindly as she put John's plate on the table. "Would you like anything else to drink? She asked.

"Could we get refills?" John asked, his mouth watering at the sight in front of him. Dean had already dug in.

"Certainly, enjoy your meal." Once she was away, John all but devoured his breakfast. They were almost finished when she returned with the drinks. "I think I'm going to need to go get the pie," she said, more to herself than to them.

Dean managed to empty his plate first and leaned contently against the back of his seat. "Ah, that was great," he said lazily. His father grunted his agreement.

"I'm glad everything is to your liking," the waitress said, placing two slices of pie on the table and taking Dean's plate with her. Dean eyed the pie, but decided to wash away the bacon with some juice first. John finished his meal and shoved the plate out of his way.

"I'll give the English one thing, they sure as hell know how to prepare a breakfast," John grunted in appreciation.

"The pie is pretty good too, though," Dean offered with his mouth full. John had no idea how his son managed to be understandable, and he was afraid to find out.

"Gotta swallow first, Dean," he commented dryly, but pulled the pie towards himself as he did so. The breakfast had been nice and filling, and John felt like he could take on any hunt, but he sure had plenty of space left to enjoy a good pie. He sighed in content as he took the first bite, crispy on the outside, soft and almost spongy on the inside. The sweet taste of sugar and berries chasing away the hearty breakfast.

They enjoyed a few more drinks until the clock reached half past ten. John paid the bill, leaving a decent tip, and they made their way to the train station. The Jetta was still where they had left it and John popped open the trunk, retrieving Dean's two duffelbags as Dean himself slid on his backpack. They got inside of the station and headed towards platform nine, like Dumbledore had explained to them.

They were just in time to see a man walk through the wall of platform nine and ten. Holding their breath, they waited for the other people to panic, but it never happened.

"How did they not notice that?" Dean hissed.

"Not a clue, get a move on," John hissed back, pushing his son forward. They casually stood in front of the wall, making sure nobody was watching them when they took a step back, smoothly going through it. They turned around to face the sign reading nine and three quarters, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if there was a nine and a quarter and a nine and a half platform, too. They looked around warily, the platform was loaded with loud talking witches and wizards clad in robes, cats were chasing each other, some owls were screeching, and a green smokescreen appeared not too far from them. Once it cleared, it revealed the scarlet engine and John let out a low whistle.

John placed one hand on Dean's shoulder, every muscle on his body was on edge, and Dean wasn't faring much better. They walked to the back of the platform, where the last of the carriages were. Less people were gathered there and it gave a good all-over view.

"Last chance Dean, you sure you wanna go through with this?" John asked, turning his son around to face him. Dean's eyes were wide, the green looking intenser than normal as he scanned the platform. There were more people than they had thought there would be. Dean looked back to his father.

"I got this far, might as well see it through," Dean said, sounding braver than he felt. He couldn't believe he had anything in common with the other people that were boarding the train, but he'll manage. He always did. John nodded and they entered the last carriage together. Dean led the way to the end of it and slid open the door of the compartment on the side of the platform. He put his backpack on the bench and turned to the window, glancing out over the platform towards the big clock. They had ten minutes left.

"That's it then," John said, causing Dean to turn around. Dean noticed his two duffelbags were now on the luggage rack.

"I think you should go before the train leaves and all the others want to exit the platform," Dean suggested. He knew his father was highly uncomfortable and he could only imagine the line that would form once all the parents and other family members tried to leave. John offered a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, that might be for the best," he agreed. His smile faltered. "I'm gonna miss having you around, son." Dean didn't know what to say, it wasn't a side his father ever really showed before. Well, at least not after mom died. Instead, he just hugged his father. He had no idea when he'd see him again. It might be next summer. Dean swallowed, he wasn't going to break down now. They parted, John gave a last reassuring squeeze in Dean's shoulder, and left. Dean sat down, following his father over the platform until he disappeared through the gate. A feeling of definition crept over him. There was no backing out now, and that scared him. He dug his walkman out of his backpack and led Led Zeppelin soothe him. He hardly noticed as the train started to move.

* * *

Dean awoke from his nap when nature demanded it, the cassette had long stopped playing and one of the earphones had plopped out of his ear. He glanced out of the window to see the train passing by a village. The sun stood high, so it was still early noon, Dean figured. He got out of his compartment and started looking for a restroom sign. To his relief, he found one in the next carriage.

By the time Dean was washing his hands, he heard commotion outside.

"Your mom said that, huh?" Someone asked, the disdain clear in his young voice. "Well, your mom is a stupid bitch!"

"A filth to our society," a second one agreed, followed by a loud smack.

"Ouch! Don't talk about my mother!" a third one cried out. With a sigh, Dean opened the door.

"What's going on here?" He demanded to know with as much big brother authority as he could muster. There were three boys in front of him, they couldn't be much older than him, and they were all in their Hogwarts robes. Two of them were looming over the third one on the ground. _Freaking bullies,_ Dean thought. The two twirled around, but relaxed once they saw him.

"What do you want, mudblood?" the taller of the two demanded. Dean wondered what kind of insult mudblood even was, but he decided he didn't care.

"Just back off before I introduce your blood to the mud on my boot," Dean snarled, making his young voice as deep and intimidating as possible. The duo hesitated, weighing their chances. Dean rolled his eyes and walked past them, facing their victim. "You alright?" he asked, offering a hand.

"Yeah, I guess," he answered as he took Dean's hand. The boy's eyes widened and Dean promptly let go, kicking straight behind him. He connected to someone and the person sacked to one knee with a groan, rubbing gently over the other one.

"I told you to back off," Dean bit, challenging them to make another move.

"This isn't over," the uninjured one of the two stated as he helped his buddy up and left. Dean turned back to the other boy and helped him up.

"T-thanks for helping, I'm sorry you got on their bad side now, though," the boy stammered. Dean shrugged.

"No problem, what were they bothering you about anyway? Lunch money?" the kid seemed rather athletic, so Dean didn't see why they were picking on him. The boy sighed.

"They're purebloods, I'm a halfblood, so to them, I'm below their station," the boy explained. At Dean's confused look, he laughed bitterly. "Purebloods tend to think they're better because all their ancestors were witches and wizards, too. When you're a halfblood, this isn't the case, hell, your parent could be non-magical, or a muggle as we call them," the boy explained. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What if your ancestor has a whole tree of witches and wizards but got squibs as children and you might be the first wizard in his direct line?" Dean asked.

"I… I have no idea, actually. I think they'll just consider you a muggleborn," the boy said with a shrug.

"Huh, Gringotts thought different about that. I mean, I got access to the family vault and everything," Dean explained. The boy shrugged again.

"I have no idea what to make of that," he answered truthfully. He considered Dean for a moment. "Oh! I'm James, James Begbie!" he added, offering his hand.

"Dean Winchester," Dean replied, shaking hands. It was weird, he couldn't recall ever shaking another kid's hand. Adults sure, but kids? "This your first year?" he asked.

"Yes, it is. Yours too, right?"

"Yeah, it appears so." Dean grinned despite himself. "And I already made two enemies before we even got to the school," he added.

"You and me both," James agreed, also grinning. "But perhaps also a friend?" Dean couldn't help but laugh. James might be a bit weird, but he decided he liked the kid.

"I guess so, yeah. Anyway, I gotta go back to my compartment, I was sitting alone so for all I know someone stole all my shit,"

"Oh, where were you sitting? I'll go retrieve my stuff and join you," James said.

"Last compartment of the last carriage, on the right hand," Dean explained before taking off. He hurried back and was glad when he found his stuff untouched. It didn't take long before his door slid open again and James back came in, pulling his big trunk inside with all his might. "Dude, how much did you pack?" Dean asked, looking from the heavy trunk to his duffelbags and hoping they wouldn't be too heavy. James shrugged.

"Mind helping me put it on the rack?" He asked. Dean got to his feet and helped James lift it up. It was lighter than Dean anticipated, but it might've been heavier than Sam. No, he was positive that the trunk was heavier. They sat down, an awkward silence between them.

"So what do you know about Hogwarts?" Dean asked, not sure what else to say. James perked up and started explaining about the founders and the several charms and spells that were known to protect the school. It didn't take long for Dean's attention to slip, but James didn't notice.

Dean's torture finally ended when someone knocked on the door. Dean hastily got up and slid it open. A cart filled with all sorts of candy and other sweet goods was in front of him. Dean's mouth watered despite his inability to name any of the items.

"Would you like something of the trolley, dear?" an old lady asked. Dean decided that she was his favourite person in the magic world so far.

"Have you got any pie?" he asked hopeful.

"No, but I do have some cauldron cakes," she answered sweetly. Dean shrugged, deciding to go for those and some chocolate frogs. He paid her in the weird wizarding coins and allowed James to access the trolley. His friend returned with a couple of items for himself, the only thing Dean recognized was the liquorice wand and the chocolate frog. Dean dug into his cauldron cakes, the taste of rich chocolate surprised him. The green filling tasted like buttercream with lime and it was topped off with tiny, crusty parts of almonds.

"These things are incredible," Dean all but sighed, suddenly happy the Trolley Lady didn't have any pie. James chuckled and enjoyed his liquorice wand.

"Where are you from anyway? James asked suddenly. Dean's eyebrows furrowed closer together.

"America," he answered simply. "Lawrence, Kansas, if you wanna be precise." James raised his eyebrows.

"That's sweet, mate. Did you come here alone?" He asked, shifting into a more upright position.

"No, I got to London with my dad, little brother, and surrogate father," Dean replied. He wasn't even sure why he told the truth, but at least he wouldn't have to remember any lies yet.

"Where's your mom if you don't mind my asking?" Dean did mind, but it was a simple enough question.

"She died in a house fire when I was four," he replied, busying himself with the wrapper of a chocolate frog.

"Oh, I'm sorry… My dad walked out on my mom once he learned she was a witch," James told him honestly. "She remarried and I got a half-sister, Vanessa, but the man died of dragon pox last year. He wasn't my actual dad, but he still was the only father I ever knew. He even agreed to adopt me so I could take his last name." James smiled at the thought.

"I'm sorry for your loss, it sounds like he was a great man." Both boys were lost in thought until Dean got enough. "Hey, you ever heard muggle music?" he asked.

"No, why?" James responded, eyebrows raised. Dean adopted a wolfish grin and snatched up his walkman. "Is that a radio?" James asked.

"No, it's a walkman. You have these tapes called cassettes," Dean popped the cassette tape out to show it to James. "There's film in them that has the music on it which this device can play," he explained, pointing to the rolls of film that was visible in the cassette.

"Film? Like in a camera?" James asked curiously.

"Yeah, like that, but you use a different kind of coating on the film for a camera than that you do on a cassette," Dean explained patiently.

"I'll gladly take your word for it. I never knew how cameras worked and I'm perfectly fine with that," James admitted. "Now let me hear your music!"

* * *

It had gotten dark outside of the train and James had suggested Dean also changed into his robes. Now clad in black, Dean plopped down on the bench, not really sure what to do with himself. But he didn't have to find out as the train started to slow.

"It seems like we're finally arriving,"James said, pushing himself up from the bench across of Dean to look out of the window. "I think I see a platform."

"I hope you see a platform, too," Dean agreed, not bothering to get up. A bell rang and a man informed them that they were reaching Hogsmeade Station. They were instructed to leave their luggage behind as the staff would take it to the castle. Dean paled, his bags stood out compared to the standard trunks that the other students had. What if they searched his stuff? He decided he'd at least take his backpack with him. If the staff did search the luggage and he'd lose the arsenal in his duffelbags, he'd at least have a backup with him. James didn't ask any questions when Dean slid on his backpack.

The train stopped and the boys braced themselves before they joined the hectic of students outside of their compartment. They made it to the platform quickly. Dean hardly recalled walking, they had just been carried and pushed along by the swarm of black robes. A huge man towered above them, casting them in a shadow.

"Firs years, firs years 'ere!" The man bellowed. Dean and James shared a look, and stepped closer towards the giant of a man. From everyone in the Magic world so far, this man looked the most like a hunter. His features were rough, his hair and beard wild, the man even wore some flannel.

More students gathered around them and the platform quickly emptied as the other students walked away. Dean wondered why they weren't going with the others, but he shrugged it off.

"I think das everybody. Dis way!" The man said, beckoning them with a big hand to follow him. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts," the man told them with pride as they walked a dark path through a forest, Hagrid's very out of proportion lantern the only source of light. It was a short route until they reached a lake, about a dozen rowboats waiting at the edge. A small lantern was attached to a mast on each one of them.

"Everyone get into a boat, no more than four of ye in each of dem!" Dean and James quickly got into a nearby boat and were joined by two other boys. Once everyone was seated, the boats drifted off on their own. Dean sighed, letting a hand drag over his face. He could feel James' eyes on him.

"This journey just drags on, and on, and on," Dean explained, slumping back as much as the wooden bench would allow.

"Agreed, there must be a better way to transport this many students to Hogwarts," James said. Dean stayed silent, unsure of how much he could share.

"Yer about to see Hogwarts for ye firs time!" Hagrid announced from the boat leading the other boats. Dean glanced up at that, and sure enough, just behind those low hanging trees, was the stark, black silhouette of a huge castle against the deep blue sky. Thousands of lights were on, giving it an eerie, yet beautiful look. Several " _oh's"_ and " _ah's"_ were heard from the other boats.

Dean couldn't stop looking, and the curtain of ivy took him by surprise. He struggled a little with a particular root, but James helped him free himself despite chuckling uncontrollably. Dean looked around the peculiar cave. There was a stone docking place that led to the longest stairs Dean ever laid his eyes on. He groaned in misery. _This was not a good sign._

* * *

 **AN: Huh, I actually don't have to say much here… I did zero research for this chapter. It's a bloody miracle, really. Uh, I think everyone got the reference of the title of this chapter (and the previous one of course), right?  
I took some liberties on the taste of the Cauldron Cakes.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	6. Talking Hats Are Jerks

**Chapter 6: Talking Hats Are Jerks**

* * *

Dean made sure he stayed in the front of the group, closest to the wall, as they climbed the stairs. He wasn't gonna be there when someone slipped over the small, slippery steps and fell down. And given how uneven the steps were in height, that was a very likely possibility. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax, but failed miserably. He couldn't help but hold his breath with every step Hagrid took, placing those inhumanly big feet on far too small steps every time… It was just asking for a disaster to happen. Dean was really impressed when they made it to the top without incident.

There was something about the place itself, too. Almost as if the air was different, and he wasn't thinking about the humid and meadow qualities of it, either. There was something to the castle that made the hairs on his neck stand up straight.

Maybe it wasn't the castle, maybe it was the fact they were being led through what must have been the dungeons at some point. _And I don't even have an EMF,_ Dean thought bitterly. An old dungeon? Great haunting place.

The other students seemed nervous, too. Scared even. But Dean didn't think they were noticing the subtle differences he was trying to figure out. He really should've read that book Bobby had bought him in Diagon Alley, the one about the history of the castle.

Or perhaps the long, narrow corridors with their dim candles and weird shadows were starting to get to him. No, dad had said Dean should trust his training, and his training was telling him he couldn't be on edge enough. _Hell, what was I thinking coming to a magic school?_ Dean silently asked himself. It wasn't like he stood a chance if this turned out to be a _very_ bad idea.

The group suddenly came to a halt and Dean's sense of nearing Doom grew stronger. He allowed himself to fidget with the cable of his earphones. He felt like a friggin' sitting duck, waiting there like that. Before his theories could get the better of him, someone knocked on a door and it opened almost right away. Dean gulped.

A witch in emerald green robes stepped into the candle light. Her face seemed to be set like stone, her black hair pulled into a tight bun, and she casted an authoritative look over the students. Dean fought the urge to straighten himself under her strict gaze.

"The firs years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid informed her as if delivering a package.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here," Professor McGonagall said. She sounded Scottish but uncanningly proper at the same time. Dean bit his tongue, not allowing a sound to come out. "Follow me," she told the students. She led them into a grand hall. The torches gave the rough, grey walls and the flagged stone floor a warm shade as the flow of students walked in. The ceiling was so high, Dean felt like he had just shrunk to ant size, but the marble staircase in the middle of the hall got rid of that disillusion.

Dean followed the witch past a grand double door where he could hear the drone of many collected voices. Whatever route the older students had taken, it had been a lot faster. Instead of letting them join the rest of the school, Professor McGonagall led them to an empty chamber to the side. It quickly got far too crowded, and Dean felt genuinely trapped.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the good Professor said. "The start-of-term banquet is about to begin, but before that you will be sorted into your Houses," she explained and Dean vaguely recalled James talking about those Houses. "The sorting is a very important ceremony, because during your stay here for the next seven years, your House will be functioning as your family within Hogwarts." Yeah, Dean didn't see that happening. "You will have classes with the rest of your House, you will sleep in your House's dormitory, eat at your House's table, and spend your free time in your House's Common Room." She casted another stern look over the students.

Dean tuned her out and looked around the chamber. It was completely empty, there was nothing distinguishable about the room at all. He wondered why that'd be… An elbow of James in his side got him to pay attention to Professor McGonagall again.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She paused to look pointedly at a few students. "I'll be back in a few minutes." The speech done, she turned around and closed the doors with a single wick of her wand.

It didn't take long before panicked whispers arose among the students.

"What'd you think the test is?" Dean heard a girl say behind him. _Well, that was actually a good question,_ he thought.

"Do you think it will be dangerous? I don't know any spells yet!" Another girl asked the first, positively panicking. James seemed rather calm.

"What House do you want to be in?" James asked. Dean shrugged.

"Does it really matter?" Dean answered. James gave him an incredulous look. "What?" Dean asked. James shook his head in disbelief.

"Of course it matters!" James said a bit too loud. The students closest to them grew silent and turned to look at them. James flushed, Dean tried to look indifferent. "They all got different virtues, traits, that the Founder thought were most important," James continued in a whisper. Dean slowly crossed his arms in front of his chest, seemingly thoughtful.

"Where do the kids go without virtues?" James frowned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water. "Virtues," Dean snorted. "Are we joining a religious cult?" He shook his head in mock. What were his virtues anyway? Dean wasn't even sure he had them.

"Sometimes I really don't get you," James admitted. Dean shrugged.

"Works for me," he said, grinning. James just shook his head. The doors opened, cutting their conversation, and many others, short.

"We're ready for you," Professor McGonagall informed them. "Now form a line and follow me." The students hesitated, so Dean walked up to Professor McGonagall to take the lead. James seemed rather uncomfortable, but stepped right behind him. Dean failed to completely suppress a smile. He followed the witch through the grand doors, gritting his teeth as to not allow his jaw to drop at the sight before him.

Four long tables were lined up vertically in the room, floating candles above each of them and a few hundred students sitting at them. There were huge, arched windows on either side, and then there was a ceiling… And what a ceiling that was, _if_ there even was one. Thousands of stairs shined down upon the occupants, a couple clouds passed by lazily, and the crescent moon was located proudly above a fifth table. Dean forced himself to look forward, the fifth table was occupied by the staff. He saw Dumbledoors sitting in the middle, and a few heads to the right was Bobby in his dark blue robes.

Dean could feel the tension leaving his muscles. Bobby was right there. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, but eased back in his chair once he noticed Dean. Dean resisted the urge to wave, and thankfully Bobby did, too.

Professor McGonagall had the students spread out in front of the staff table and looked at a filthy, black piece of fabric on a three legged stool. Dean quirked an eyebrow when a big hole appeared. Before he could do anything, it started to sing. More off-key than the last song Dean treated Sammy on, too.

" _Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me."_

The occupants suffered in patient silence as the hat continued to sing.

" _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,"_

And there his relaxation went. The hat could read his entire mind? That'd be _very_ bad. His heart jolted, his brain raced. What was he gonna do about that? Far too soon the song ended. The older students cheered, whistled, and clapped. Even the majority of the staff was clapping. Dean made eye-contact with Bobby in the commotion, and saw what he had expected. Bobby's eyes were wide, but his posture calm. Almost unnoticeably, Bobby gave Dean a single nod of encouragement.

Professor McGonagall came to stand next to the stool and rolled out a long sheet of parchment. She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. "Andriessen, Nathan!" She announced. A small boy with a round face and sandy-blond hair stumbled forward. He sat down and the witch put the hat over his head. A few seconds passed in dead silence.

"Gryffindor!" The hat bellowed suddenly. A table off to the right wall burst out in cheers and Nathan hurried off towards them.

"Begbie, James!" Dean gave an encouraging pat on his friend's back and James stepped forward. It took even less time for the hat to do its thing.

"Slytherin!" The table on the opposite side burst out in cheers. James hurried off, glancing over to Dean as he did so. Dean followed him from the corner of his eyes, noticing how several students were clapping James on the back and shoulder and shaking his hand. _What is wrong with these kids that they all wanna shake hands?_ Dean wondered.

The witch kept reading off her list, but the names hardly registered in Dean's mind. He knew he'd be waiting for a while and he was more focused on the hat. Dean tried to figure out the pattern, but there didn't seem to be one. The kids would walk up, sometimes the hat hardly graced their head, other times they sat there for minutes. It seemed completely random.

"Walters, Skylar!" A girl with spiky, short copper hair stepped forward and Dean noticed he and two other boys were the only ones left. He grinned, of course he'd be left waiting with the two bullies from the train. The hat was taking its sweet time again.

"Ravenclaw!" It finally bellowed, causing the table next to Slytherin to cheer and whistle.

"Winchester, Dean!"

Dean tried not to hurry, to walk as confidently as he could, like his father had-perhaps indirectly-taught him. He sat down slumping on his very uncomfortable seat. He even managed a slight smile before the hat sank over his head, way past his eyes. Dean blinked at the dark fabric in front of him, but didn't dare move any other part.

"Relax, whatever I learn here will never be told to another soul," the voice of the hat said, yet it didn't. It was silent for several seconds until Dean felt a chill creep up his spine. _The hat is talking_ inside _my head,_ Dean realized. He could feel the hat's _intention_ to nod.

"How about things that don't have a soul?" Dean asked mentally. He could feel the hat smiling and resisted the urge to shudder.

"My charms are impenetrable, so no. None of the monsters you're thinking about will be able to extract any information from me," the hat answered. Dean could feel some hesitation from the hat, and he shifted in his seat.

"What is it?" he found himself asking. He was met by a long silence. Then he could feel the hat shaking its head no. Dean was about to demand answers when it continued.

"You're a tough one to place," it admitted. Dean didn't know what to say to that. Well, other than suppressing the fear of having no virtues, which he supposed was an answer to the hat on its own.

"I can see you're resourceful, clever, and very determined. You're willing to do whatever it takes to achieve what you want. Those traits are highly appreciated within Slytherin, and yet, what you want is far more Hufflepuff. You want to keep your family safe. You're truly loyal to them, dedicated even. And you work hard to protect them, which brings us to yet another House, Gryffindor. You're brave, courageously even. When you're truly scared-and we both know you have been-you push on. You never back down. You simply accept the challenge and show off your nerve like it's the best armor in the world. You even have potential for wise, old Ravenclaw. You certainly have enough wit about you, and I can see you got a creative, yet logical mind. But where do I sort you?" It felt like the hat was scratching its head. Dean was wondering if it just did that for the sole purpose of making him more

Uncomfortable.

"It's not often that I'm overqualified," Dean told the hat through their weird link. He could feel the hat rolling its eyes at him.

"Where would you sort yourself?" the hat asked instead.

"Hell, I hardly know which house is which," Dean answered, shrugging. "At least not with the nerds. One nerd in my family is enough." He could feel the hat raising its eyebrows.

"Yes, you had the least potential for Ravenclaw anyway," the hat agreed. It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"Can you just hurry this up? I was promised a banquet after this ceremony of yours was over." Dean scratched his cheek in thought. "Hey, do you know if there's gonna be any pie?" he asked hopeful.

The hat ignored him, causing Dean to pout. "I think you would be most suited for either Gryffindor or Slytherin," it announced. Dean didn't react and the hat pondered on.

The hat was certain neither Ravenclaw nor Hufflepuff would do. The kid didn't have the thirst for knowledge that drove so many of Ravenclaw's students. He had a kind heart, but he didn't-couldn't- set himself up as a kind person. And with his impatience, even the students of accepting Hufflepuff would consider him an outsider. Dean was a bit rough around the edges, something that wouldn't do him any good in either of those houses, too. Gryffindor and Slytherin would be more accepting of that.

But how accepting would Dean be? The kid was stubborn and not scared to start a confrontation. In theory it could be good for Slytherin to have someone like Dean in their midst. But the sorting hat knew better than just theory. The hat had read the minds of all the students and it knew that it would result in lots of fights if it placed Dean in Slytherin. How much good would that do? _Not much,_ it thought sadly. It would have done this kid well to hone his Slytherin traits, but Dean was already suspicious enough of the wizarding world and the current situation in Slytherin wouldn't help against that.

"That concludes it, then." Was the only warning Dean got, and it startled him. "GRYFFINDOR!" Dean's ears rang as the heavy voice echoed in his mind.

As in a daze Dean stood up, his ass hurting from sitting on that stupid stool for so long. Lightly shaking his head, he started towards the cheering table. A decision was made that the other kids before him had seem happy about, but Dean didn't feel a thing. Okay, he was relieved to get off that damn stool and away from all those prying eyes, he'll admit to that.

"Wyman, Aaron!" Dean looked over his shoulder to see the taller of the two bullies take place. _So that was the sucker's name, huh?_

Dean glanced over the Gryffindor table. His fellow first years seemed absolutely ecstatic, but one of the girls sat a bit further away from them. Dean remembered her, she had been sorted almost right after James. _What had been her name?_ _Kitty Bell? No, that would've been stupid._ Perhaps he should've been paying attention to Professor McGonagall after all. She seemed calm as she played with the end of her ponytail and observed the other people sitting at the table. Dean figured he could use some peace and quiet.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked her. He didn't even know why he bothered. She looked up at him and offered an easy smile.

"Go ahead," she said, her eyes already back on the last person she had been looking at. Dean sat down, thankful that the benches were far more comfortable.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted. Dean snapped around to look at James from across the hall. The poor kid looked terrified.

"Son of a bitch," Dean murmured quietly. He should've been there with him.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" the girl next to him asked. She hadn't even bothered to turn around. Dean clenched his jaw.

"Yates, Owen!" Professor McGonagall read. The girl was done observing the other people and turned to look at him. _Fuck._

"Uh, your name was Bell, right?" he asked, his brows furrowed. She nodded and offered him her hand.

"Katie Bell," she clarified.

"SLYTHERIN!" Dean closed his eyes. _Oh fuck that, that's just heartless. That damned hat!_

Dean accepted Katie's hand. "Dean Winchester," he said, offering her a lopsided grin. She smiled back and shook his hand twice before letting go. Dean followed Katie's gaze to the staff table and saw that Dumbledoors was now standing. The stool and that jerk of a hat were gone. The headmaster smiled and opened his arms wide as if he expected someone to run up to him and embrace him. He gazed over the students

"Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Blockhead! Dweeb! Scrap! Attune! Thank you," Professor Dumbledore said and promptly plopped down again.

"Did you get that…?" Katie asked, her eyebrows raised.

"He went from headmaster to a kid on the playground to completely nuts from where I'm sitting," Dean answered, shrugging carelessly. He turned back to the table to find it loaded with food. "Oh hells yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" He dug in, putting anything that was in reach on his plate until it was full, and then some.

"So how's America?" Katie asked the moment he shoved a big heap of sausages in his mouth . He gave her an incredulous look and she rolled her eyes, slumping her shoulders. "Don't give me that! It's obvious with that accent of yours," she informed him. _Fair enough_. Dean gave her a one sided shrug and swallowed his lump of food down.

"Alright, I guess. It's easier to navigate and far less ancient looking," he told her.

"Do you miss it?" she asked as she reached over the table to grab the potatoes and serve herself. "Want some?" Dean held out his plate to her and she put a heavy dose on it.

"Not really, we always traveled a lot. This isn't much different, just looks more old-fashioned and the accents have a way to getting to ya, you know?" Dean found a can of some juice and Katie pushed her goblet towards him. He poured them a drink as he continued. "My dad and I agreed that your breakfasts rock though," he added, smiling. Katie nodded gravely.

"Don't remind me! My parents and I were on vacation to France once and the breakfasts were awful. I mean, they tasted alright, but I'd be hungry within an hour," she explained in all seriousness. Dean chuckled.

"I'm always hungry," he told her quietly.

"Yes, I can see that." She looked pointedly to his mess of a plate. Dean treated her to another lopsided grin and started wolfing his food down. Katie just shook her head and mumbled that sounded a lot like " _Boys"_ before focusing on her own plate.

Dean swiftly finished it and reached over to a platter of ribeyes for seconds when a silvery something came out of it, casting his hand in ice water. He yelped, jerking away. His eyes widened when he realized what it was. The ghost rose up and Dean got a hold of the salt and sprinkled it all over the ghost.

The ghost cried out in pain as its image sizzled and hissed, causing a strange, clear smoke to appear. The head had fallen off to the shoulder, allowing Dean a nasty view into his neck. Dean watched wide eyed as the ghost didn't disperse like he was supposed to do.

"Why would you do that, boy?" The man cried. Dean opened his mouth and closed it again as nothing came out. Keeping his eyes on the ghost, he reached for his backpack.

"What did you do?" One of the older students asked. "How can you even _harm_ a ghost?" Dean hesitated then. _What was going on?_ He carefully glanced around and saw that several other ghosts had appeared. He tensed, how fucking haunted was this place?

None of the other students were making a scene, though. In fact, several seemed to be conversing with the ghosts. _What the hell is happening?_ Dean asked himself. He looked over to the staff table to see what Bobby was making out of all this.

The man was standing, he appeared gruffer than his usual self. Professor McGonagall had his hand on his arm and was talking in on him. Reluctantly, Bobby sat down. Dean turned back to the ghost.

"You startled me," Dean told him. "I'm sorry." He couldn't believe he was apologizing to a fucking ghost.

"Apologies accepted," the ghost said, putting his head back on. "I see we got a nice lot for new Gryffindors!" he stated, circling around above the table to look at Dean's peers.

"Who are you?" A boy, Nathan, asked.

"I'm sir Nicolas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service!" the ghost declared solemnly. "I'm the ghost of Gryffindor tower."

"He's better known as Nearly Headless Nick!" A ginger-haired boy shouted.

"I prefer sir Nicolas, Mr. Weasley!" Nicolas retorted. He turned his attention back to the first years. "I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup five years in a row now! The Bloody Baron's becoming rather full of himself — he's the Slytherin ghost." None of the first years had time to react as Nicolas promptly turned around and drifted away over the table to sit elsewhere.

Dean shook his head. This was surreal.

"You okay?" Katie asked.

"Why the hell are there so many ghosts here?" he asked, placing his head in his hands. Katie shrugged.

"It's one of the few magical places in the United Kingdom where they don't have to be afraid to run into muggles. It sure beats staying at the Ministry of Magic," she explained simply. Dean groaned. "Wanna explain what you did to him?" she asked, poorly concealing her interest. Dean shot a glance at Nicolas, then turned his attention to her.

"I threw salt at him," Dean admitted quietly.

"Why salt?" Katie asked, frowning.

"It's supposed to disperse ghosts, I don't know why it didn't work for Nick there," Dean pointed to the aforementioned ghost. Katie's frown deepened. Dean sighed. "It has to do with the pure qualities of salt or something."

"Oh," Katie said. "And how do you know that?" Dean winked at her and started filling his plate again. "Oh, come on!" she whined. Dean pretended he didn't hear her and dug into his seconds. And he sure as hell didn't feel it when she hit him against the shoulder.

 _Kids were the same, magical or not._ Dean smiled weakly at that. And the fact that his dormitory had its own ghost… Well, he'd just have to put a salt line around his bed and talk about it with Bobby once he got the chance.

* * *

By the time the desserts vanished, even Dean felt like he couldn't take another bite, not even of his favourite pie.

"Dude, I'm stuffed," he groaned softly, leaning back on one elbow. Katie turned to him, her face in mock concern.

"You're not going to explode, are you?" she asked. Dean rolled his eyes. He lazily turned his head when he heard someone loudly clear his throat. Professor Dumbledore was once again standing.

"The very best of evenings to you! To our new students I say welcome, to our returning students, welcome back! I hope the banquet tasted as good to you as it did to me." He smiled and let his eyes gaze over the students before him.

"Another year full of magical education awaits you, with some changes to the curriculum. But first some business. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to point out to our new students-and some of our returning students-that the Forbidden Forest on the school grounds is indeed forbidden." He smiled knowingly.

"This year we welcome three new Professors," he announced, his voice more serious. "Suyilae Stainthorpe will be taking over the position of Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts." A tall woman in dark red robes and with her black hair braided in one long braid on the back stood up under the applause. She bowed her head lightly and smiled before sitting back down.

"Our other new Professor is Charity Burbage who will take over Muggle Studies until Professor Quirrell will come back from his year of traveling." A second woman stood up, she was shorter than Professor Stainthorpe and had curly, blonde-to-ginger hair. She made a bit of a nervous impression.

"And lastly, Professor Robert Singer will be joining us. He will introduce you to the new subject Wandless Defence." Dean snickered as Professor McGonagall had to elbow Bobby to get him to stand up. The students clapped politely and the soft buzzing of whispers filled the room. Bobby quickly sat down again and started staring daggers at Professor McGonagall. Dean tried not to choke on his own laughter. He didn't even care that his stomach was protesting madly.

"Of course we wish both Professors the best of luck," Professor Dumbledore said, nodding to both of them respectively. "But now your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish! And I know you all must be tired from the journey, so let us say good night. Pip pip!" As one, the student body came in movement. Chatter filled the room as they started to drop out of the… Cafeteria? Dean wasn't sure how to call it, really.

"First years! First years! Follow me!" A guy shouted, standing on the bench from their table. Katie grinned.

"Are you going to be able to get up?" She asked innocently. Dean shot her a glare and got up. He swiftly walked away from her despite his whole body protesting, just for good measure. He joined the small group that had gathered around the older student. The student waited for the last of Dean's peers to join them.

"I am Cyril Meaking and I'm one of the Gryffindor Perfects!" Cyril announced. "I'll show you the way to your dormitory, so please follow me and stay close!" _Oh joy, what had that ghost said again? A tower?_ Dean gritted his teeth as he followed Cyril's lead up the marble staircase.

Dean wasn't sure if he was just too tired and full of food, or that the paintings and stairs actually moved as they climbed up to the tower. He swore to himself he'll never eat so much ever again just to be safe.

He almost bumped into the guy in front of him when the group suddenly came to an halt. He looked up to see Cyril had stopped in front of a huge painting of a fat lady in a pink dress.

"This is the entrance to our dormitory," Cyril explained. Dean squinted his eyes and opened them again to make sure he wasn't hallucinating when the lady moved. He wasn't. While he cursed under his breath, the lady in the painting turned to Cyril.

"Password?" she asked. Cyril glanced over the students to make sure they were paying attention before answering the portrait.

"The password is Cockroach Clusters." The lady gave a single nod and the portrait swayed away to reveal yet another narrow staircase. One by one, the students squeezed through the hole and up the stairs to reach a huge, round room. It was decorated with fluffy red armchairs and sofas, there was a fire going in the fireplace, and there were several tables to sit at.

"This is the Gryffindor Common Room," Cyril explained. "The dormitories are up there," he said, pointing to the staircase, "girls to the left, boys to the right. Your curfew is at nine o'clock at night, so make sure you're here by that time. Good night."

Dean walked up the stairs with the rest of the first years to find another staircase on each side. _I hate this place,_ Dean thought as he made his way up. He dragged himself through the corridor when he noticed a sign with his name on it. Well, there were five names on it, but he didn't bother to read them all. He opened the room to find five four-poster beds, and one of them had his green duffelbags at the foot end. He hastily stalked over and looked longingly over the red blankets and pillows. _At least tomorrow's Sunday,_ he thought in consolation. _I can stay in that bed as long as I want._

He rummaged in his backpack until he retrieved the salt and made a rectangle just under the bed so one of his roommates wouldn't accidentally break it. Once done, he tossed the salt on his nightstand and fell face first into his mattress. Sleep took him almost immediately.

* * *

 **AN: Freaking Hell this sorting thing was killing me! I can't believe the decision is now final. I feel weird, I feel empty, and I feel nervous. I have changed my mind about a trillion times. I even considered just writing two versions of this story, one with Slytherin!Dean and one with Gryffindor!Dean, but I thought that'd be too much (for me). Who knows though, maybe I'll hit my head someday and do it anyway. It certainly would be interesting to see how it affects the plot… No! No, down plot bunnies, down! Oh man, I'm nervous. I'd really like to know what you think of my decision to put Dean in Gryffindor and I hope my/the hat's reasoning is satisfying for those that would've preferred a different House.**

 **I may have been over-analyzing Dumbledore's four word speech in the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone (Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!). If you get it, awesome. If not, well don't worry about it. :)**

 **Apparently Quirinus Quirrell was teaching Muggle Studies (I know, the irony, right?) before he left for a year and ran into Voldy. He was replaced by a nameless male wizard until Charity Burbage took the position in 1993 (Prisoner of Azkaban). I figured I might as well skip the nameless character and place Charity right away.**


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